
Class 
Book. 



CoipglitE 



JO 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






POEMS HERE AT HOME 



3fame5 JBfiitcoml) mu^. 



NEIGHBORLY POEMS. 

SKETCHES IN PROSE AND 
OCCASIONAL VERSES. 

AFTERWHILES. 

PIPES 0' PAN (Prose and 
Verse). 

RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD. 

FLYING ISLANDS OF THE 
NIGHT. 

OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

(English Edition). 

GREEN FIELDS AND RUN- 
NING BROOKS. 



Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/poemshereathome01rile 




(SEE PACE 18.1 



POEMS HERE^ 
AT HOME 

BY / 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



PICTURES BY E. W. KEMBLE 




%S OF COA/^ 



NEW YORK 

THE CENTURY CO 

1893 



K 

'/ 



•"^EF 15 mi',] 



t 



Copyright, 1893, by 

James Whitcomb Riley. 

All Rights Reserved. 



Copyright, 
[887, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1893, 
by The Century Co. 



/Z-d^036- 



THE DEVINNE PRESS. 



TO 
MY FATHER 



PROEM 

The Poems here at Home! — Who '// write ^em down, 
Jes' as they air — in Coimtry and in Town?- — 
Sowed thick as clods is ^crost the fields and lanes, 
Er these- ere little hop-toads when it rains! — 
Who '// " voice " ^em ? as I heerd a feller say 
^At speechified on Freedom, f other day, 
And soared the Eagle tel, it speared to me. 
She was n^t bigger ^n a bumble-bee ! 



Who HI sort ''em out and set ^em down, says /, 
^At 'i- got a stiddy hand enough to try 
To do ^em jestice Uhout a-foolin' some, 
And headin^ facts off whefi they want to come ? — 
Who ''s got the lovin^ eye, and heart, and brain 
To recMnize ^at nothin 's made in vain — 
''At the Good Bein^ made the bees a?id birds 
And brutes first choice, a7td us-folks afterwards? 

What We want, as I sense it, in the line 

O* poetry is somepin^ Yours and Mine — 

Somepin^ with live-stock i7i it, and out-doo7's, 

And old crick-botto7ns, snags, and sycamores : 

Putt weeds in — pizenvines, and underbresh, 

As well as johiny-jump-ups, all so fresh 

And sassy -like I — and groun^-squirUs, — yes, and'''' We," 

As sayin^ is, — '-''We, Us and Company !" 



Putt in old Nature's sermonts, — thejn ^s the best, — 

A7id ^casionHy hang up a hornets' nest 

^At boys ^at 'i- run away from school can git 

At handy -like — and let ^em tackle it I 

Let us be wrought on, of a truth, to feel 

Our proneness fer to hurt more than we heal, 

In ministratin^ to our vain delights — 

Fergittin^ even inseds has their rights I 

No '"''Ladies'' Amaranth^^ ner ^^ Treastiry" book — 
Ner ^^ Night Thoughts,'^ nuther — ner no ^'- Lally Rook^^l 
We ivant some poetry ^at V to Our taste. 
Made out d* truck ^at ^s jes* a-goin^ to waste 
^ Cause smart folks thinks it ^s altogether too 
Outrageous common — ^cept fer me and you! — 
Which goes to argy, all sich poetry 
Is ^bliged to rest its hopes 07i You and Me. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Proem 7 

When She Comes Home 15 

Nothin' to Say 16 

The Absence of Little Wesley .... 18 

The Used-to-be 21 

At "The Literary" 23 

One Afternoon 30 

Down to the Capital 32 

The Poet of the Future 38 

The Old Man and Jim 40 

Thoughts on the Late War 44 

The Old Band .46 



12 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"Last Christmas Was a Year Ago" ... 59 

The All-Kind Mother 58 

Our Hired Girl 60 

The Raggedy Man ....... 63 

Goin' to the Fair 66 

Gladness 68 

Fessler's Bees 72 

A Life Term . ,_.. . 82 

"The Little Man in the Tinshop" ... 84 

From a Balloon 91 

"Tradin' Joe" 92 

Uncle William's Picture .98 

The Fishing-Party 100 

Squire Hawkins's Story 102 

Dead Selves 117 

In Swimming-Time 120 

Song of the Bullet 123 

Dead, My Lords . 124 

Home Again 125 

A Sea-Song from the Shore 126 

A Boy's Mother 128 

The Runaway Boy 130 



CONTENTS 13 

PAGE 

The Spoiled Child 133 

The Kind Old Man 134 

The Boy Lives on Our Farm .... 136 

The Doodle-Bugs's Charm 138 

Little Cousin Jasper 141 

Give Me the Baby 144 

The Bee-Bag 146 

Little Marjorie ........ 148 

The Truly Marvelous 150 

'MoNGST the Hills o' Somerset . . . .151 

Old John Henry 154 

My First Spectacles 156 

Scotty .158 

My White Bread 160 

Back From Town 162 

A Man by the Name of Bolus 164 

Old Chums 167 

What a Dead Man Said 168 

Cuored o' Skeerin 171 

Your Violin 173 

To A Skull 175 

A Vision of Summer 177 



14 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Bereaved . . . . ■ 183 

A Song of the Cruise 184 

The Dead Wife 185 

Someday 186 

Close the Book . . . . . . . 187 



WHEN SHE COMES HOME 

1/ When she comes home again! A thousand ways 
I fashion, to myself, the tenderness 
Of my glad welcome : I shall tremble — yes ; 
And touch her, as when first in the old days 
I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise 
Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress. 
Then silence : and the perfume of her dress : 
The room will sway a little, and a haze 
Cloy eyesight — soulsight, even — for a space; 
And tears — yes ; and the ache here in the throat, 
To know that I so ill deserve the place 
Her arms make for me ; and the sobbing note 
I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face 
Again is hidden in the old embrace. 



NOTHIN' TO SAY 

V 

Nothin' to say, my daughter ! Nothin' at all to say ! 
Gyrls that 's in love, I 've noticed, giner'ly has their 

way ! 
Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected 

to me — 
Yit here I am and here you air! and yer mother — 

where is she ? 

You look lots like yer mother: purty much same 

in size; 
And about the same complected ; and favor about the 

eyes : 
Like her, too, about livin' here, because she could n't 

stay; 
It '11 'most seem like you was dead like her! — 'but 

I hain't got nothin' to say ! 



NO THIN' TO SAY 17 

She left you her little Bible — writ yer name acrost 

the page — 
And left her ear-bobs fer you, ef ever you come of 

age; 
I 've alluz kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer 

goin' away — 
Nothin' to say, my daughter ! Nothin' at all to say ! 

You don't rickollect her, I reckon ? No ; you was n't 

a year old then ! 
And now yer — how old air you? W'y, child, not 

''twenty''/ When? 
And yer nex' birthday 's in Aprile ? and you want 

to git married that day ? 
I wisht yer mother was livin' ! — but I hain't got 

nothin' to say ! 

Twenty year ! and as good a gyrl as parent ever 

found ! 
There 's a straw ketched onto yer dress there — I '11 

bresh it off — turn round. 
(Her mother was jest twenty when us two run away.) 
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! 



THE ABSENCE OF LITTLE WESLEY 

^ Sence little Wesley went, the place seems all so 

strange and still — 
W'y, I miss his yell o' " Gran'pap ! " as I 'd miss the 

whipperwill ! 
And to think I ust to scold him fer his everlastin' 

noise, 
When I on'y rickollect him as the best o' little boys! 
I wisht a hunderd times a day 'at he 'd come 

trompin' in, 
And all the noise he ever made was twic't as loud 

ag'in ! — 
It 'u'd seem like some soft music played on some 

fine insturment, 
'Longside o' this loud lonesomeness, sence little 

Wesley went ! 



THE ABSENCE OF LITTLE WESLEY 19 

Of course the clock don't tick no louder than it ust 

to do — 
Yit now they 's times it 'pears like it 'u'd bu'st 

itse'f in two ! 
And let a rooster, suddent-like, crow som'ers clos't 

around, 
And seems 's ef, mighty nigh it, it 'u'd lift me off the 

ground ! 
And same with all the cattle when they bawl around 

the bars, 
In the red o' airly mornin', er the dusk and dew and 

stars. 
When the neighbers' boys 'at passes never stop, but 

jes' go on, 
A-whistlin' kind o' to theirse'v's — sence Httle Wesley 's 

gone! 

And then, o' nights^ when Mother 's settin' up on- 
common late, 

A-bilin' pears er somepin', and I set and smoke and wait, 

Tel the moon out through the winder don't lo^ 
bigger 'n a dime. 

And things keeps gittin' stiller — stiller — stiller all the 
time, — 



20 THE ABSENCE OF LITTLE WESLEY 

I 've ketched myse'f a-wishin' like — as I dumb on 

the cheer 
To wind the clock, as I hev done fer more 'n fifty 

year — 
A-wishin' 'at the time hed come fer us to go to bed, 
With our last prayers, and our last tears, sence little 

Wesley 's dead ! 



THE USED-TO-BE 

i^ Beyond the purple, hazy trees 
Of summer's utmost boundaries ; 
Beyond the sands — beyond the seas— 
Beyond the range of eyes hke these, 
And only in the reach of the 
Enraptured gaze of Memory, 
There Hes a land, long lost to me, — 
The land of Used-to-be! 

A land enchanted — such as swung 
In golden seas when sirens clung 
Along their dripping brinks, and sung 
To Jason in that mystic tongue 

That dazed men with its melody — 
O such a land, with such a sea 
Kissing its shores eternally. 
Is the fair Used- to-be. 

A land where music ever girds 
The air with belts of singing-birds, 



2 2 THE USED- TO-BE 

And sows all sounds with such sweet words, - 

That even in the low of herds 
A meaning lives so sweet to me, 
Lost laughter ripples limpidly 
From lips brimmed over with the glee 
Of rare old Used-to-be. 

Lost laughter, and the whistled tunes 
Of boyhood's mouth of crescent runes, 
, That rounded, through long afternoons, 
To serenading plenilunes — 
When starlight fell so mistily 
That, peering up from bended knee, 
I dreamed 't was bridal drapery 
Snowed over Used-to-be. 

O land of love and dreamy thoughts. 
And shining fields, and shady spots 
Of coolest, greenest grassy plots, 
Embossed with wild forget-me-nots! — 

And all ye blooms that longingly 

Lift your fair faces up to me 

Out of the past, I kiss in ye 
The lips of Used-to-be. 



^/ 



AT ''THE LITERARY" 

Folks in town, I reckon, thinks 
They git all the fun they air 
Runnin' loose 'round! — but, 'y jinks! 
We' got fun, and fun to spare, 
Right out here amongst the ash- 
And oak- timber ever'where! 
Some folks else kin cut a dash 
'Sides town-people, don't fergit! — 
'Specially in wmtej^-tivaQ, 
When they 's snow, and roads is fit. 
In them circumstances I 'm 
Resig-nated to my lot — 
Which putts me in mind o' what 
'S called "The Literary." 



24 



AT ''THE LITERARY" 

Us folks in the country sees 
Lots o' fun!— Take spellin'-school ; 
Er ole hoe-down jamborees ; 
Er revivals ; er ef you '11 
Tackle taffy-pullin's you 
Kin git fun, and quite a few ! — 
Same with huskin's. But all these 
Kind o' frolics they hain't new 
By a hunderd year' er two, 
Cipher on it as you please ! 
But I '11 tell you what I jest 
Think walks over all the rest — 
Anyway it suits me best, — 
That 's '' The Literary." 

First they started it — " 'y gee! " 

Thinks-says-I, ''this settle-ment 

'S gittin' too high-toned fer me!" 

But when all begin to jine. 

And I heerd Izory went, 

I jest kind o' drapped in line. 

Like you 've seen some sandy, thin, 

Scrawny shoat putt fer the crick 

Down some pig-trail through the thick 



AT ''THE LITERARY" 

Spice-bresh, where the whole drove 's been 
'Bout six weeks 'fore he gits in ! — 
Can't tell nothin'," I-says-ee, 
'Bout it tel you go and see 
Their blame ' Literary ' ! " 



25 




Very first night I was there 
I was 'p'inted to be what 
They call '' Critic "—so 's a fair 
And square jedgment could be got 
On the pieces 'at was read, 
And on the debate, — '' Which air 
Most destructive element, 



26 



AT ''THE LITERARY'' 



Fire er worter ? " Then they hed 
Compositions on " Content," 
Death," and " Botany " ; and Tomps 




He read one on '' Dreenin' swamps " 
I p'nounced the boss, and said, 
''So fur, 'at 's the best thing read 
In yer ' Literary '! " 



AT ''THE LITERARY 



27 




Then they simg some — tel I called 

Order, and got back ag'in 

In the critic's cheer, and hauled 

All o' the p'formers in : — 

Mandy Brizendine read one 

I fergit ; and Doc's was " Thought " ; 



28 AT ''THE LITERARY'' 

And Sarepty's, hern was " None 
Air denied 'at knocks ;" and Daut- 
Fayette Strawnse's litde niece — 
She got up and spoke a piece : 
Then Izory she read hern — 
"■ Best thing in the whole concern," 
I-says-ee; "now le' 's adjourn 
This-here ' Literary ' ! " 

They was some contendin' — yit 
We broke up in harmony. 
Road outside as white as grit, 
And as shck as shck could be! — 
I 'd fetched 'Zory in my sleigh, — 
And I had a heap to say, 




AT ''THE LITERARY'' 

Drivin' back — in fact, I driv 
'Way around the old north way, 
Where the Daubenspeckses hve. 
'Zory alius — 'fore that night — 
Never 'peared to feel jest right 
In my company. — You see, 
On'y thing on earth saved me 
Was that " Literary " ! 



29 



/ 



ONE AFTERNOON 

Below, cool grasses: over us 
The maples waver tremulous. 

A slender overture above, 

Low breathing as a sigh of love 

At first, then gradually strong 

And stronger: 't is the locust's song, 

Swoln midway to a p^an of glee. 
And lost in silence dwindlingly. 

Not utter silence; nay, for hid 
In ghosts of it, the katydid 

Chirrs a diluted echo of 

The loveless song he makes us love. 



ONE AFTERNOON 



31 



The low boughs are drugged heavily 
With shade; the poem you read to me 

Is not more gracious than the trill 
Of birds that twitter as they will. 

Half consciously, with upturned eyes, 
I hear your voice — I see the skies, 

Where, o'er bright rifts, the swallows glance 
Like glad thoughts o'er a countenance; 

And voices near and far are blent 
Like sweet chords of some instrument 

Awakened by the trembling touch 
Of hands that love it overmuch. 

Dear heart, let be the book awhile! 
I want your face — I want your smile ! 

Tell me how gladder now are they 
Who look on us from heaven to-day. 



DOWN TO THE CAPITAL 

I ' be'n down to the Capital at Washington, D. C, 
Where Congerss meets and passes on the pensions 

ort to be 
Allowed to old one-legged chaps, like me, 'at sence 

the war 
Don't wear their pants in pairs at all — and yit how 

proud we are! 

Old Flukens, from our deestrick, jes' turned in and 

tuck and made 
Me stay with him while I was there ; and longer 'at 

I stayed 
The more I kep' a-wantin' jes' to kind o' git away, 
And yit a-feelin' sociabler with Flukens ever' day. 
32 



nOWiV TO THE CAPITAL ^2, 

You see I 'd got the idy — and I guess most folks 

agrees — 
'At men as rich as him, you know, kin do jes' what 

they please; 
A man worth stacks o' money, and a Congerssman 

and all. 
And livin' in a buildin' bigger 'n Masonic Hall ! 

Now mind, I 'm not a-faultin' Fluke — he made his 

money square : 
We both was Forty-niners, and both bu'sted gittin' 

there ; 
I weakened and onwindlassed, and he stuck and 

stayed and made 
His millions ; don't know what / 'w worth untel my 

pension 's paid. 



But I was goin' to tell you — er a-ruther goin' to try 
To tell you how he 's livin' now : gas burnin' mighty 

nigh 
In ever' room about the house; and all the night, 

about, 
Some blame reception goin' on, and money goin' out. 



34 



DOWN TO THE CAPITAL 

They 's people there from all the world — jes' ever' 

kind 'at lives, 
Injuns and all ! and Senaters, and Ripresentatives ; 
And girls, you know, jes' dressed in gauze and roses, 

I ^(fclare, 
And even old men shamblin' round and waltzin' with 

'em there! 

And bands a-tootin' circus-tunes, 'way in some other 

room 
Jes' chokin' full o' hot-house plants and pinies and 

perfume ; 
And fountains, squirtin' stiddy all the time; and 

statutes, made 
Out o' puore marble, 'peared-like, sneakin' round 

there in the shade. 

And Fluke he coaxed and begged and pled with 

me to take a hand 
And sashay in amongst 'em — crutch and all, you 

understand \ 
But when I said how tired I was, and made fer 

open air, 
He follered, and tel five o'clock we set a-talkin' there. 



DOWN TO THE CAPITAL 35 

My God!" says he — Fluke says to me, "I 'm 

tireder 'n you; 
Don't putt up yer tobacker tel you give a man a chew. 
Set back a leetle furder in the shadder — that '11 do; 
I 'm tireder 'n you, old man; I 'm tireder 'n you. 



" You see that-air old dome," says he, " humped up 

ag'inst the sky? 
It 's grand, first time you see it ; but it changes, by 

and by, 
And then it stays jes' thataway — jes' anchored high 

and dry 
Betwixt the sky up yender and the achin' of yer 

eye. 

" Night 's purty ; not so purty, though, as what it 

ust to be 
When my first wife was livin'. You remember her ? " 

says he. 
I nodded-like, and Fluke went on, " I wonder now 

ef she 
Knows where I am — and what I am — and what 

I ust to be ? 



36 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL 

" That band in there ! — I ust to think 'at music 

could n't wear 
A feller out the way it does; but that ain't music 

there — 
That 's jes' a' imitation, and like ever'thing, I swear, 
I hear, er see, er tetch, er taste, er tackle anywhere 1 



It 's all jes' artificial, this-ere high-priced life of ours ; 
The theory, it 's sweet enough, tel it saps down and 

sours. 
They 's no home left, ner ties o' home about it. By 

the powers. 
The whole thing 's artificialer 'n artificial flowers 1 



" And all I want, and could lay down and sob fer, 

is to know 
The homely things of homely hfe; fer instance, jes' 

to go 
And set down by the kitchen stove — Lord ! that 

'u'd rest me so, — 
Jes' set there, like I ust to do, and laugh and joke, 

you know. 



DOWN TO THE CAPITAL 3y 

Jes' set there, like . I ust to do," says Fluke, 

a-startin' in, 
'Peared-like, to say the whole thing over to his- 

se'f ag'in; 
Then stopped and turned, and kind o' coughed, 

and stooped and fumbled fer 
Somepin' o' 'nuther in the grass — I guess his hand- 

kercher. 

Well, sence I 'm back from Washington, where I 
left Fluke a-still 

A-leggin' fer me, heart and soul, on that-air pen- 
sion bill, 

I 've half-way struck the notion, when I think o' 
wealth and sich, 

They 's no thin' much patheticker 'n jes' a-bein' rich ! 



THE POET OF THE FUTURE 

/ 
O THE Poet of the Future! He will come to us as 

comes 
The beauty of the bugle's voice above the roar of 

drums — 
The beauty of the bugle's voice above the roar and din 
Of battle-drums that pulse the time the victor marches 

in. 
His hands will hold no harp, in sooth ; his lifted brow 

will bear 
No coronet of laurel — nay, nor symbol anywhere, 
Save that his palms are brothers to the toiler's at the 

plow. 
His face to heaven, and the dew of duty on his brow. 

He will sing across the meadow, — and the woman at 

the well 
Will stay the dripping bucket, with a smile ineffable ; 
38 



THE POET OF THE FUTURE 39 

And the children in the orchard will gaze wistfully the 

way 
The happy song comes to them, with the fragrance of 

the hay ; 
The barn will neigh in answer, and the pasture-lands 

behind 
Will chime with bells, and send responsive lowings 

down the wind ; 
And all the echoes of the wood will jubilantly call 
In sweetest mimicry of that one sweetest voice of all. 

O the Poet of the Future! He will come as man to 

man. 
With the honest arm of labor, and the honest face of 

tan. 
The honest heart of lowliness, the honest soul of love 
For human-kind and nature-kind about him and above. 
His hands will hold no harp, in sooth ; his hfted brow 

will bear 
No coronet of laurel — nay, nor symbol anywhere, 
Save that his palms are brothers to the toiler's at the 

plow, 
His face to heaven, and the dew of duty on his brow. 



THE OLD MAN AND JIM 

Old man never had much to say — 

'Ceptin' to Jim, — 
And Jim was the wildest boy he had — 

And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! 
Never heerd him speak but once 
Er twice in my life, — and first time was 
When the army broke out, and Jim he went, 
The old man backin' him, fer three months; 
An' all 'at I heerd the old man say 
Was, jes' as we turned to start away, — 

" Well, good-by, Jim : 
Take keer of yourse'f!" 

'Peared-like, he was more satisfied 

Jes' lookifi^ at Jim 
And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see ? — 

'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him ! 

40 



THE OLD MAN AND JIM 



41 



And over and over I mind the day 

The old man come and stood round in the 

way 
While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim — 
And down at the deepot a-heerin' him say, 
"Well, good-by, Jim: 
Take keer of yourse'f ! " 



Never was nothin' about the farm 

Disting'ished Jim; 
Neighbors all ust to wonder why 

The old man 'peared wrapped up in him : 
But when Cap. Biggler he writ back 
'At Jim was the bravest boy we had 
In the whole dern rigiment, white er black, 
And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad — 
'At he had led, with a bullet clean 
Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag 
Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen, — 
The old man wound up a letter to him 
'At Cap. read to us, 'at said: "Tell Jim 

Good-by, 

And take keer of hisse'f." 



42 



THE OLD MAN AND JIM 

Jim come home jes' long enough 

To take the whim 
'At he 'd Hke to go back in the calvery — 

And- the old man jes' wrapped up in him ! 
Jim 'lowed 'at he 'd had sich luck afore, 
Guessed he 'd tackle her three years more. 
And the old man give him a colt he 'd raised, 
And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade, 
And laid around fer a week er so, 
Watchin' Jim on dress-parade — 
Tel finally he rid away, 
And last he heerd was the old man say, — 

"Well, good-by, Jim: 
Take keer of yourse'f ! " 



Tuk the papers, the old man did, 

A-watchin' fer Jim — 
Fully belie vin' he 'd make his mark 

Some way™ jes' wrapped up in him! — 
And many a time the word 'u'd come 
'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum — 
At Petersburg, fer instunce, where 
Jim rid right into their cannons there, 



THE OLD MAN AND JIM 



43 



And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t' other way, 
And socked it home to the boys in gray, 
As they scooted fer timber, and on and on — 
Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone, 
And the old man's words in his mind all day, — 
" Well, good-by, Jim : 
Take keer of yourse'f ! " 

Think of a private, now, perhaps, 

We '11 say like Jim, 
'At 's dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps — 

And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! 
Think of him — with the war plum' through, 
And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue 
A-laughin' the news down over Jim, 
And the old man, bendin' over him — 
The surgeon turnin' away with tears 
'At had n't leaked fer years and years. 
As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to 
His father's, the old voice in his ears, — 

"Well, good-by, Jim: 
Take keer of yourse'f! " 



V 



THOUGHTS ON THE LATE WAR 

I WAS for Union — you, ag'in' it. 
Tears like, to me, each side was winner, 
Lookin' at now and all 'at 's in it. 
Le' 's go to dinner. 

Le' 's kind o' jes' set down together 
And do some pardnership forgittin'-— 
Talk, say, fer instance, 'bout the weather, 
Er somepin' fittin'. 

The war, you know, 's all done and ended. 
And ain't changed no p'ints o' the compass; 
Both North and South the health 's jes' splendid 
As 'fore the rumpus. 

The old farms and the old plantations 
Still ockipies the'r old positions. 
Le' 's git back to old situations 

And old ambitions. 



THOUGHTS ON THE LATE WAR 

Le' 's let up on this blame', infernal 
Tongue-lashin' and lap-jacket vauntin', 
And git back home to the eternal 

Ca'm we 're a-wantin'. 

Peace kind o' sort o' suits my diet — 
When women does my cookin' for me. 
Ther' was n't overly much pie et 
Durin' the army. 



45 



THE OLD BAND 




It 's mighty good to git back to the old town, shore, 
Considerin' I 've be'n away twenty year and more. 
Sence I moved then to Kansas, of course I see a 

change, 
A-comin' back, and notice things that 's new to me 

and strange; 
Especially at evening when yer new band-fellers meet, 
In fancy uniforms and all, and play out on the street — 
. . What 's come of old Bill Lindsey and the 



saxhorn fellers 



sav r 



I want to hear the old band play. 
46 



THE OLD BAND 



47 



What 's come of Eastman, and Nat Snow? And 

where 's War Barnett at ? 
And Nate and Bony Meek; Bill Hart; Tom Richa'- 

son and that 
Air brother of him played the drum as twic't as big 

as Jim; 
And old Hi Kerns, the carpenter — say, what 's be- 
come o' him? 
I make no doubt yer new band now 's a coinpetenter 

band, 
And plays their music more by note than what they 

play by hand, 
And stylisher and grander tunes; but somehow — 

«;rvway, 

I want to hear the old band play. 

Sich tunes as " John Brown's Body " and " Sweet 
Alice," don't you know; 

And " The Camels is A-comin'," and " John Ander- 
son, my Jo " ; 

And a dozent others of 'em — "Number Nine" and 
" Number 'Leven " 

Was id^NO-rites that fairly made a feller dream o' 
heaven. 



48 



THE OLD BAND 




And when the boys 'u'd saranade, I 've laid so still 

in bed 
I 've even heerd the locus'-blossoms droppin' on the 

shed 
When " Lily Dale," er " Hazel Dell," had sobbed 

and died away — 

. . . I want to hear the old band play. 



THE OLD BAND ^g 

Yer new band ma'by beats it, but the oM band 's 

what I said — 
It alkis 'peared to kind o' chord with somepin' in my 

head; 
And, whilse I 'm no musicianer, when my blame' eyes 

is jes' 
Nigh drownded out, and Mem'ry squares her jaws 

and sort o' says 
She won't ner never will fergit, I want to jes' turn in 
And take and hght right out o' here and git back 

West ag'in 
And stay there, when I git there, where I never haf 

to say 

I want to hear the old band play. 




" LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO " 

(the old lady speaks) 

Last Christmas was a year ago, 
Says I to David, I-says-I, 
"We 're goin' to morning-service, so 
You hitch up right away : I '11 try 
To tell the girls jes' what to do 
Fer dinner. — We '11 be back by two." 
I did n't wait to hear what he 
Would more 'n like say back to me. 
But banged the stable door and flew 
Back to the house, jes' plumb chilled through. 

Cold ! Wooh / how cold it was ! My-oh ! 

Frost flyin', and the air, you know, 
" Jes' sharp enough," heerd David swear, 
" To shave a man and cut his hair ! " 



II 



LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO'' 51 

And blow and blow! and snow and snow! — 

Where it had drifted 'long the fence 

And 'crost the road, — some places, though, 

Jes' swep' clean to the gravel, so 

The goin' was as bad fer sleighs 

As 't was fer wagons, — and both ways, 

'Twixt snowdrifts and the bare ground, I 've 

Jes' wundered we got through alive; 

I hain't saw nothin', 'fore er sence, 

'At beat it anywheres, I know- — 

Last Christmas was a year ago. 



And David said, as we set out, 

'At Christmas services was 'bout 

As cold and wuthless kind o' love 

To offer up as he knowed of; 

And as fer him, he railly thought 

'At the Good Bein' up above 

Would think more of us — as he ought — 

A-stayin' home on sich a day, 

And thankin' of him thataway! 

And jawed on, in an undertone, 

'Bout leavin' Lide and Jane alone 



52 



LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO 

There on the place, and me not there 
To oversee 'em, and p'pare 
The stuffin' fer the turkey and 
The sass and all, you understand. 

I 've alius managed David by 

Jes' sayin' iiothin\ That was why 

He 'd chased Lide's beau away — 'cause 

Lide 
She \i alius take up Perry's side 
When David tackled him; and so, 
Last Christmas was a year ago, — 
Er ruther, 'bout a week afore, — 
David and Perry 'd quarr'l'd about 
Some tom-fool argyment, you know. 
And Pap told him to "Jes' git out 
O' there, and not to come no more, 
And, when he went, to shet the door ! " 
And as he passed the winder, we 
Saw Perry, white as white could be, 
March past, onhitch his hoss, and light 
A see-gyar, and lope out o' sight. 
Then Lide she come to me and cried! 
And I said nothin' — was no need. 



LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO'' 

And yit, you know, that man jes' got 
Right out o' there 's ef he 'd be'n shot, 
P'tendin' he must go and feed 
The stock er somepin'. Then I tried 
To git the pore girl pacified. 

But, gittin' back to — where was we ? — 

Oh, yes! — where David lectered me 

All way to meetin', high and low. 

Last Christmas was a year ago : 

Fer all the awful cold, they was 

A fair attendunce ; mostly, though, 

The crowd was 'round the stoves, you see, 

Thawin' their heels and scrougin' us, 

Ef 't 'ad n't be'n fer the old Squire 

Givin' his seat to us, as in 

We stomped, a-fairly perishin'. 

And David could 'a' got no fire. 

He 'd jes' 'a' drapped there in his tracks : 

And Squire, as I was tryin' to yit 

Make room fer him, says, "No; the fac's 

Is, / got to git up and git 

^Ithoiit no preachin'. Jes' got word — 

Trial fer fife — can't be deferred!" 



IZ 



54 



LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO'' 

And out he putt! And all way through 
The sermont — and a long one, too — - ' 
I could n't he'p but think o' Squire 
And us changed round so, and admire 
His gintle ways, — to give his warm 
Bench up, and have to face the storm. 
And when I noticed David, he 
Was needin' jabbin' — I thought best 
To kind o' sort o' let him rest: 
'Peared-like he slep' so peacefully! 
And then I thought o' home, and how 
And what the gyrls was doin' now, 
And kind o' prayed, 'way in my breast, 
And breshed away a tear er two 
As David waked, and church was through. 

By time we 'd " howdyed " round and shuck 

Hands with the neighbers, must 'a' tuck 

A half hour longer : ever' one 

A-sayin' " Christmas gift ! " afore 

David er me — so we got none ! 

But David warmed up, more and more. 

And got so jokey-like, and had 

His sperits up, and 'peared so glad, 



LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO'' 



55 



I whispered to him, " S'pose you ast 

A passel of 'em come and eat 

Their dinners with us. Gyrls 's got 

A fuU-and-plenty fer the lot 

And all their kin ! " So David passed 

The invite round : and ever' seat 

In ever' wagon-bed and sleigh 

Was jes' packed, as we rode away, — 

The young folks, mild er so along, 

A-strikin' up a sleighin'-song, 

Tel David laughed and yelled, you know, 

And jes' whirped up and sent the snow 

And gravel flyin' thick and fast — 

Last Christmas was a year ago. 

W'y, that- air seven-mild ja'nt we come — 

Jes' seven mild scant from church to home — 

It did n't 'pear, that day, to be 

Much furder railly 'n 'bout three! 

But I was purty squeamish by 
The time home hove in sight and I 
See two vehickles standin' there 
Already. So says I, " Prepare / " 
All to myse'f. And presently 



56 ''LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO'' 

David he sobered; and says he, 
" Hain't that-air Squire Ranch's old 
Buggy," he says, " and claybank mare ? " 
Says I, " Le' 's git in out the cold — 
Your company 's nigh 'bout froze!" He says, 
" Whose sleigh 's that-air, a-standin' there ? " 
Says I, "It 's no odds whose — you jes' 
Drive to the house and let us out, 
'Cause we 're jes' freezi7i\ nigh about ! " 
Well, David swung up to the door, 
And out we piled. And first I heerd 
Jane's voice, then Lide^s, — I thought afore 
I reached that gyrl I 'd jes' die, shore; 
And when I reached her, would n't keered 
Much ef I had, I was so glad, 
A-kissin' her through my green veil. 
And jes' excitin' her so bad, 
'At she broke down herself — and Jane, 
She cried — and we all hugged again. 
And David? — David jes' turned pale! — 
Looked at the gyrls, and then at me. 
Then at the open door — and then — 
" Is old Squire Hanch in there ? " says he. 



■'^LASl^ CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO'' 57 

The old Squire suddently stood in 
The doorway, with a sneakin' grin. 
" Is Perry Anders in there, too ? " 
Says David, Hmberin' all through. 
As Lide and me both grabbed him, and 
Perry stepped out and waved his hand 
And says, " Yes, Pap." And David jes' 
Stooped and kissed Lide, and says, " I guess 
Yer mother 's much to blame as you. 
Ef she kin resk him, I kin too ! " 



The dinner we had then hain't no 

Bit better 'n the one to-day 

'At we '11 have fer 'em. Hear some sleigh 

A-jinglin' now. David, fer 7ne, 

I wish you 'd jes' go out and see 

Ef they 're in sight yit. It jes' does 

Me good to think, in times like these, 

Lide 's done so well. And David, he 's 

More tractabler 'n what he was — 

Last Christmas was a year ago. 



THE ALL-KIND MOTHER 

Lo, whatever is at hand 
Is full meet for the demand : 
Nature ofttimes giveth best 
When she seemeth chariest. 
She hath shapen shower and sun 
To the need of every one — 
Summer bland and winter drear, 
Dimpled pool and frozen mere. 
All thou lackest she hath still 
Near thy finding and thy fill. 
Yield her fullest faith, and she 
Will endow thee royally. 

Loveless weed and lily fair 
She attendeth, here and there — 
Kindly to the weed as to 
The lorn lily teared with dew. 



THE ALL-KIND MOTHER 

Each to her hath use as dear 

As the other ; an thou clear 

Thy cloyed senses thou may'st see 

Haply all the mystery. 

Thou shalt see the lily get 

Its divinest blossom ; yet 

Shall the weed's tip bloom no less 

With the song-bird's gleefulness. 

Thou art poor, or thou art rich — 
Never hghtest matter which ; 
All the glad gold of the noon, 
All the silver of the moon, 
She doth lavish on thee, while 
Thou withholdest any smile 
Of thy gratitude to her, 
Baser used than usurer. 
Shame be on thee an thou seek 
Not her pardon, with hot cheek, 
And bowed head, and brimming eyes. 
At her merciful "Arise! " 



59 




OUR HIRED GIRL 

A'-^^ Our hired girl, she 's 'Lizabuth Ann ; 
An' she can cook best things to eat! 
She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, 

An' pours in somepin' 'at 's good an' sweet 
An' nen she salts it all on top 
With cinnamon ; an' nen she '11 stop 

An' stoop an' sHde it, ist as slow, 
In th' old cook-stove, so 's 't won't slop 
60 



OUR HIRED GIRL 6 1 

An' git all spilled ; nen bakes it, so 
It 's custard-pie, first thing you know! 
An' nen she '11 say, 
'* Clear out o' my way ! 
They 's time f er work, an' time f er play ! 
Take yer dough, an' run, child, run! 
Er I cain't git no cookin' done!" 



When our hired girl 'tends Hke she 's mad, 

An' says folks got to walk the chalk 
When she 's around, er wisht they had! 

I play out on our porch an' talk 
To th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn ; 
An' he says, " Whew! " an' nen leans on 

His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes. 
An' sniffs all 'round an' says, ''I swawn! 
Ef my old nose don't tell me lies. 
It 'pears like I smell custard-pies ! " 
An' nen he '// say, 
" Clear out o' my way! 
They 's time fer work, an' time fer play! 
Take yer dough, an' run, child, run! 
Er she cain't sit no cookin' done! " 



62 OUR HIRED GIRL 

Wunst our hired girl, when she 
Got the supper, an' we all et, 
An' it wuz night, an' Ma an' me 

An' Pa went wher' the " Social " met, — 
An' nen when we come home, an' see 
A light in the kitchen-door, an' we 

Heerd a maccordeun. Pa says, " Lan'- 
O'-Gracious! who can her beau be? " 
An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann 
Wuz parchin' corn fer the Raggedy Man! 
Better say, 
'' Clear out o' the way! 
They 's time fer work, an' time fer play! 
Take the hint, an' run, child, run! 
Er we cain't git no courtin' done!" 



THE RAGGEDY MAN 

O THE Raggedy Man ! He works fer Pa ; 
An' he 's the goodest man ever you saw! 
He comes to our house every day, 
An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay ; 
An' he opens the shed — an' we all ist laugh 
When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf ; 
An' nen — ef our hired girl says he can — 
He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. — 
Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man? 
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

W'y, the Raggedy Man — he 's ist so good. 
He spHts the kindhn' an' chops the wood ; 
An' nen he spades in our garden, too. 
An' does most things 'at boys can't do. — 
He clumbed clean up in our big tree 
An' shocked a' apple down fer me — 
An' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann — 
An' 'nother 'n', too, fer the Raggedy Man. — 
Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? 
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

9 63 



64 



THE RAGGEDY MAN 




An' the Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes, 
An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes : 
Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, 
An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers therselves! 
An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot, 
He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 
'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can 
Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann! 

Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man? 
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 



THE RAGGEDY MAN 

The Raggedy Man — one time, when he 
Wuz makin' a Httle bow'-n'-orry fer me, 
Says, '' When you 're big hke your Pa is. 
Kit you go' to keep a fine store hke his — 
An' be a rich merchunt — an' wear fine clothes ?- 
Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows? " 
An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, 
An' I says, '"M go' to be a Raggedy Man! — 
I 'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man! " 
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 



65 



{/^ GOIN-' TO THE FAIR 

(old style) 

When Me an' my Ma an' Pa went to the Fair, 
Ma borried Mizz Rollins-uz rigg to go there, 
'Cause our buggy 's new, an' Ma says, " Mercy-sake ! 
It would n't hold half the folks she 's go' to take ! " 
An' she took Marindy, an' Jane's twins, an' Jo, 
An' Aunty Van Meters-uz girls — an' old Slo' 
Magee, 'at 's so fat, come a-scrougin' in there, 
When me an' my Ma an' Pa went to the Fair! 

The road 's full o' loads-full 'ist ready to bust, 
An' all hot, an' smokin' an' chokin' with dust; 
The Wolffs an' their wagon, an' Brizentines, too — 
An' horses 'ist r'ared when the toot-cars come through ! 
An' 'way from fur off we could hear the band play. 
An' peoples all there 'u'd 'ist whoop an' hooray ! 
An' I stood on the dash-board, an' Pa boost me there 
'Most high as the fence, when we went to the Fair! 

'""^^ 66 



COIN' TO THE FAIR 67 

An' when we 'uz there an' inside, we could see 
Wher' the flag 's on a pole wher' a show 's go' to be ; 
An' boys up in trees, an' the grea'-big balloon 
'At did n't goned up a-tall, all afternoon ! 
An' a man in the crowd there gived money away — 
An' Pa says '•'•he 'd ruther earn his by the day!" — 
An' he gim-me some, an' says " ain't nothin' there 
Too good fer his boy," when we went to the Fair! 

Wisht the Raggedy Man wuz there, too! — but he 

says, 
"Don't talk fairs to me, child! I went to one; — 

yes,— 
An' they wuz a swing there ye rode — an' I rode, 
An' a thing-um-a-jing 'at ye blowed — an' I blowed ; 
An' they wuz a game 'at ye played — an' I played. 
An' a hitch in the same wher' ye paid — an' I paid ; 
An' they wuz two bad to one good peoples there — 
Like you an' your Pa an' Ma went to the Fair ! " 



GLADNESS 

My ole man named Silas: he 
Dead long 'fo' ole Gin'l Lee 
S'rendah, whense de wah wuz done. 
Yanks dey tuk de plantation — 
Mos' high-handed evah you see! — ■ 
Das rack roun', an' fiah an' bu'n, 
An' jab de beds wid deir bay'net-gun, 
An' sweah we niggahs all scotch-free, — 
An' Massah John C. Pemberton 
Das tuk an' run ! 

" Gord Armighty, marm," he 'low, 

" He'p you an' de chillen now ! " 
Blaze crack out 'n de roof inside 
Tel de big house all das charified ! 
Smoke roll out 'n de ole hay-mow 
An' de wa'house do' — an' de fiah das roah 

68 



GLADNESS 

An' all dat 'backer, 'bout half dried, 
Hit smell das fried! 



69 



Nelse, my ol'est boy, an' John, — 
Atter de baby das wuz bo'n, 
Eriongse dem times, an' lak ter 'a' died. 
An' Silas he be'n slip an' gone 
'Bout eight weeks ter de Union side, — 
Dem two boys dey start fo' ter fine 
An' jine deir fader acrost de hne. 
Ovahseeah he wade an' tromp 
Eveh-which-way fo' to track 'em down — 
Sic de bloodhoun' fro' de swamp — 
An' bring de news dat John he drown' — 
But dey save de houn' ! 

Someway ner Nelse git fro' 
An' fight fo' de ole Red, White, an' Blue, 
Lak his fader is, ter er heart's delight — 
An' nen crope back wid de news, one night - 
Sayes, " Fader 's killed in a scrimmage-fight, 
An' saunt farewell ter ye all, an' sayes 
Fo' ter name de baby ' Gladness,' 'caze 



yo GLADNESS 

Mighty nigli she 'uz be'n borned free ! " 
An' de boy he smile so strange at me 
I sayes, " Yo' 's hurt yo'se'f/ " an' he 
Sayes, " I 's killed, too — an' dat 's all else ! " 
An' dah lay Nelse ! 

Hope an' Angrish, de twins, be'n sole 
'Fo' dey mo' 'n twelve year ole : 
An' Mary Magdaline sole too. 
An' dah I 's lef , wid Knox-Andrew, 
An' Lily, an' Maje, an' Margaret, 
An' little gal-babe, 'at 's borned dat new 
She scaisely ole fo' ter be named yet — 
Less 'n de name 'at Si say to — 
An' co'se hit do. 

An' I taken dem chillen, evah one 
(An' a-oh my Mastah's will be done!), 
An' I break fo' de Norf, whah dey all raised free 
(An' a-oh good Mastah, come git me !). 
Knox-Andrew, on de day he died, 
Lef his fambly er shop an' er lot berside; 
An' Maje die ownin' er team — an' he 
Lef all ter me. 



GLADNESS 

Lily she work at de Gran' Hotel — 
(Mastah! Mastah ! take me — do!) — 
An' Lily she ain' married well: 
He stob a man — an' she die too; 
An' Margaret she too full er pride 
Ter own her kin tel er day she died ! 
But Gladness ! — 't ain' soun' sho'-nuff true, — 
But she teached school ! — an' er white folks, 
Ruspec' dat gal 'mos' high ez I do ! — 
'Gaze she 'uz de bes' an de mos' high bred — 
De las' chile bo'n, an' de las' chile dead, 
O' all ten head ! 



Gladness! Gladness! a-oh my chile! 
Wa'm my soul in yo' sweet smile ! 
Daughter o' Silas ! o-rise an' sing 
Tel er heart-beat pat lak er pigeon-wing ! 
Sayes, O Gladness ! wake dem eyes — 
Sayes, a-lif dem folded ban's, an' rise — 
Sayes, a-coax me erlong ter Paradise, 
An' a-hail de King, 
O Gladness! 



10 



71 



FESSLER'S BEES 

"Talkin' 'bout yer bees," says Ike, 
Speakin' slow and ser'ous-like, 

" D' ever tell you 'bout old 'Bee' — 
Old 'Bee' Fessler?" Ike says-he! 

" Might call him a bee-expert, 
When it come to handlin' bees, — 
Roll the sleeves up of his shirt 
And wade in amongst the trees 
Where a swarm 'u'd settle, and — 
Blamedest man on top of dirt ! — 
Rake 'em with his naked hand 
Right back in the hive ag'in, 
Jes' as easy as you please ! 
Nary bee 'at split the breeze 
Ever jabbed a stinger in 
Old ' Bee ' Fessler — jes' in fun, 
Er in airnest — nary one! — 
Could n't agg one on to, nuther, 
Ary one way er the other! 
72 



FESSLER'S BEES 

" Old ' Bee ' Fessler," Ike says-he, 

" Made a speshyality 
Jes' o' bees; and built a shed — 
Len'th about a half a mild! 
Had about a thousarC head 
O' hives, I reckon — tame and wild! 
Dumdest buzzin' ever wuz — 
Wuss 'n telegraph-poles does 
When they 're sockin' home the news 
Tight as they kin let 'er loose ! 
Visitors rag out and come 
Clean from town to hear 'em hum, 
And stop at the kivered bridge; 
But wuz some 'u'd cross the ridge 
Alius, and go clos'ter — so 's 
They could see 'em hum, I s'pose ! 
'Peared-like strangers down that track 
Alius met folks comin' back 
Lookin' extry fat and hearty 
Fer a city picnic party ! 



"'Fore he went to Floridy, 
Old ' Bee ' Fessler," Ike says-he — 



73 



74 FESSLER'S BEES 

" Old ' Bee ' Fessler could n't bide 
Childern on his place," says Ike. 

" Yit, fer all, they 'd climb inside 
And tromp round there, keerless-like, 
In their bare feet. ' Bee ' could tell 
Ev'ry town-boy by his yell — 
So 's 'at when they bounced the fence, 
Did n't make no difference! 
He 'd jes' git down on one knee 
In the grass and pat the bee ! — 
And, ef 't 'ad n't stayed stuck in, 
Fess' 'u'd set the sting ag'in, 
'N' potter off, and wait around 
Fer the old famillyer sound. 
Alius boys there, more er less, 
Scootin' round the premises ! 
When the buckwheat wuz in bloom, 
Lawzy ! how them bees 'u'd boom 
Round the boys 'at crossed that way 
Fer the crick on Saturday ! 
Never seemed to me su'prisin' 
'At the sting o' bees 'uz p'izin! 

"'Fore he went to Floridy," 
Ike says, "nothin' 'bout a bee 



FESSLER'S BEES 75 

'At old Fessler did n't know, — 
W'y, it jes' 'peared-like 'at he 
Knowed their language, high and low : 
Claimed he told jes' by their buzz 
What their wants and wishes wuz! 
Peek in them-air little holes 
Round the porches o' the hive — 
Drat their pesky little souls ! — 
Could 'a' skinned the man ahve! 
Bore right in there with his thumb, 
And squat down and scrape the gum 
Outen ev'ry hole, and blow 
'N' bresh the crumbs off, don't you 

know ! 
Take the roof off, and slide back 
Them-air glass concerns they pack 
Full o' honey, and jes' lean 
'N' grabble 'mongst 'em fer the queen! 
Fetch her out and show you to her — 
Jes', you might say, interview her ! 

"Year er two," says Ike, says-he, 
"'Fore he went to Floridy, 

Fessler struck the theory. 

Honey was the same as love — 



76 FESSLER'S BEES 

You could make it day and night : 
Said them bees o' his could be 
Got jes' twic't the work out of 
Ef a feller managed right. 
He contended ef bees found 
Blossoms all the year around, 
He could git 'em down at once 
To work all the winter months 
Same as summer. So, one fall, 
When their summer's work wuz done, 
'■ Bee ' turns in and robs 'em all ; 
Loads the hives then, one by one. 
On the cyars, and 'lowed he 'd see 
Ef bees loafed in Flo7idy ! 
Said he bet he 'd know the reason 
Ef his did n't work that season ! 



" And," says Ike, " it 's jes'," says-he, 
" Like old Fessler says to me : 
'Any man kin fool a bee, 
Git him down in Floridy ! ' 
'Feared at fust, as old ' Bee ' said, 
Fer to kind o' turn their head 



FESSLER'S BEES 

Fer a spell; but, bless you! they 
Did n't lose a half a day 
Altogether ! — Jes' lit in 
Them-air tropics, and them-air 
Cacktusses a-ripen-nin', 
'N' magnolyers, and sweet-peas, 
'N' 'simmon and pineapple trees, 
'N' ripe bananners, here and there, 
'N' dates a-danglin' in the breeze, 
'N' figs and reezins ev'rywhere, 
All waitin' jes' fer Fessler's bees! 
'N' Fessler's bees, with gaumy wings, 
A-gittin' down and whoopin' things ! - 
Fessler kind o' overseein' 
'Em, and sort o' ^hee-o-heei?i\f' . 

" 'Fore he went to Floridy, 
Old ' Bee ' Fessler," Ike says-he, 

" Wuz n't counted, jes' to say. 
Mean er or'n'ry anyway; 
On'y ev'ry 'tarnel dime 
'At 'u'd pass him on the road 
He 'd ketch up with, ev'ry time; 
And no mortal ever knowed 



77 



78 FESSLER'S BEES 

Him to spend a copper cent — 
'Less on some iooV sperimeiit 
With them bees — hke that-un he 
Played on 'em in Floridy. 
Fess', of course, he tuck his ease, 
But 't wuz bilious on the bees! 
Sweat, you know, 'u'd jes' stand out 
On their forreds — pant and groan, 
And grunt round and Hmp about ! — 
And old ' Bee,' o' course, a-knowin' 
'T wuz n't no fair shake to play 
On them pore dumb insecks, ner 
To abuse 'em thataway. 
Bees has rights, I 'm here to say, 
And that 's all they ast him fer ! 
Man as mean as that^ jes' 'pears. 
Could 'a' worked bees on the sheers ! 
Cleared big money — well, I guess, 
' Bee ' shipped honey, more er less, 
Into ev'ry state, perhaps. 
Ever putt down in the maps! 

" But by time he fetched 'em back 
In the spring ag'in," says Ike, 



FESSLER'S BEES yg 

" They wuz actin' s'picious-like : 
Though they 'peared to lost the track 
O' ev'rything they saw er heard, 
They 'd lay round the porch, and gap' 
At their shadders in the sun, 
Do-less like, ontel some bird 
Suddently 'u'd mayby drap 
In a bloomin' churry-tree, 
Twitterin' a tune 'at run 
In their minds familiously! 
They'd revive up, kind o', then, 
Like they argied : ' Well, it 's be'n 
The most longest summer we 
Ever saw er want to see! 
Must be rig/if, though, er o/d '■Bee'' 
'U'd notify us!' they says-ee; 
And they'd sort o' square their chin 
And git down to work ag'in — 
Moanin' round their honey-makin', 
Kind o' like their head was achin'. 
TetcJmi^ fer to see how they 
Trusted Fessler thataway — 
Him a-lazin' round, and smirkin' 

To hisse'f to see 'em workin' ! 
11 



8o FESSLER'S BEES 

" But old ' Bee,' " says Ike, says-he, — 
" JVow where is he ? Where 's he gone ? 
Where 's the head he helt so free ? 
Where's his pride and vanity? 
What 's his hopes a-restin' on ? — 
Never knowed a man," says Ike, 
"Take advantage of a bee, 
'At affliction didn't strike 
Round in that vicinity! 
Sinners alius suffers some, 
And cM Fessler's reck'nin' come! 
That-air man to-day is jes' 
Like the grass 'at Scriptur' says 
Cometh up, and then turns in 
And jes' gits cut down ag'in! 
Old ' Bee ' Fessler," Ike says-he, 
" Says, last fall, says he to me — 
'Ike,' says he, 'them bees has jes' 
Ciphered out my or'n'riness! 
Nary bee in ary swarm 
On the whole endurin' farm 
Won't have nothin' more to do 
With a man as mean as I 've 
Be'n to them, last year er two! 



FESSLER'S BEES 8 1 

Nary bee in ary hive 
But '11 turn his face away, 
Like they ort, whenever they 
Hear my footprints drawin' nigh ! ' 
And old ' Bee,' he 'd sort o' shy 
Round oneasy in his cheer. 
Wipe his eyes, and yit the sap. 
Spite o' all, 'u'd haf to drap. 
As he wound up : ' Would n't keer 
Quite so much ef they 'd jes' light 
In and settle things up right. 
Like they ort; but — blame the thing! — 
'Pears-like they won't even sting/ 
Pepper me, the way I felt, 
And I 'd thank 'em, ev'ry welt ! ' 
And as miz'able and mean 
As ' Bee ' looked, ef you 'd 'a' seen 
Them-air hungry eyes," says Ike, 
"You 'd fergive him, more 'n like. 

" Wisht you had 'a' knowed old ' Bee ' 
'Fore he went to Floridy ! " 



\^ A LIFE TERM 

She was false, and he was true, — 
Thus their lives were rent apart; 

'T was his dagger driven through 
A mad rival's heart. 

He was shut away. The moon 

May not find him ; nor the stars — 

Nay, nor yet the sun of noon 
Pierce his prison bars. 



She was left — again to sin- 
Mistress of all siren arts: 

The poor, soulless heroine 
Of a hundred hearts ! 



A LIFE TERM 

Though she dare not think of him 
Who believed her Hes, and so 

Sent a ghost adown the dim 
Path she dreads to go, — 

He, in fancy, smihng, sips 
Of her kisses, purer yet 

Than the dew upon the lips 
Of the violet. 




THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TINSHOP 

When I was a little boy, long ago, 

And spoke of the theatre as ''the show," 

The first one that I went to see, 

Mother's brother it was took me — 

(My uncle, of course, though he seemed to be 

Only a boy — I loved him so! ) 



''THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TIN SHOP'' 85 

And ah, how pleasant he made it all! 

And the things he knew that / should know ! — 

The stage, the "drop," and the frescoed wall; 

The sudden flash of the hghts ; and oh, 

The orchestra, with its melody, 

And the hit and jingle and jubilee 

Of ''The Little Man in the Tinshop "! 




For Uncle showed me " The Leader " there. 
With his pale, bleak forehead and long, black hair ; 
Showed me the " Second," and '"Cello," and " Bass,'' 
And the " B-Flat," pouting and pufling his face 
At the little end of the horn he blew 
Silvery bubbles of music through ; 



86 ''THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TIN SHOP'' 

And he coined me names of them, each in turn, 
Some comical name that I laughed to learn, 
Clean on down to the last and best, — 
The lively little man, never at rest. 
Who hides away at the end of the string, 
And tinkers and plays on everything, — 

That 's " The Little Man in the Tinshop " ! 



Ll_^ 




Raking a drum like a rattle of hail. 
Clinking a cymbal or castanet ; 
Chirping a twitter or sending a wail 
Through a piccolo that thrills me yet 
Reeling ripples of riotous bells. 
And tipsy tinkles of triangles — 



THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TIN SHOP' 



87 




Wrangled and tangled in skeins of sound 
Till it seemed that my very soul spun round, 
As I leaned, in a breathless joy, toward my 
Radiant uncle, who snapped his eye 
And said, with the courtliest wave of his hand, 
Why, that Httle master of all the band 
Is The Little Man in the Tinshop ! 




88 ''THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TIN SHOP'' 

" And I 've heard Verdi, the Wonderful, - 
And Paganini, and Ole Bull, 
Mozart, Handel, and Mendelssohn, 
And fair Parepa, whose matchless tone 
Karl, her master, with magic bow. 
Blent with the angels', and held her so 




Tranced till the rapturous Infinite — 
And I 've heard arias, faint and low. 
From many an operatic light 
Glimmering on my swimming sight 
Dimmer and dimmer, until, at last, 
I still sit, holding my roses fast 

For The Little Man in the Tinshop." 



I 



THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TIN SHOP ' 



89 




Oho! my Little Man, joy to you — 

Kxid, yours — and theirs — your lifetime through! 

Though / 've heard melodies, boy and man. 

Since first " the show " of my life began, 

Never yet have I Hstened to 

Sadder, madder, or gladder glees 

Than your unharmonied harmonies ; 



90 



THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TIN SHOP " 



For yours is the music that appeals 
To all the fervor the boy's heart feels — 
All his glories, his wildest cheers, 
His bravest hopes, and his brightest tears ; 
And so, with his first bouquet, he kneels 
To " The Little Man in the Tinshop." 




FROM A BALLOON 

Ho ! we are loose. Hear how they shout, 

And how their clamor dwindles out 

Beneath us to the merest hum 

Of earthly acclamation. Come, 

Lean with me here and look below — 

Why, bless you, man! don't tremble so! 

There is no need of fear up here — 

Not higher than the buzzard swings 

About upon the atmosphere, 

With drowsy eyes and open wings! 

There, steady, now, and feast your eyes; — 

See, we are tranced — we do not rise; 

It is the earth that sinks from us : 

But when I first beheld it thus, 

And felt the breezes downward flow, 

And heard all noises fail and die. 

Until but silence and the sky 

Above, around me, and below, — 

Why, like you now, I swooned almost, 

With mingled awe and fear and glee — 

As giddy as an hour-old ghost 

That stares into eternity. 



"TRADIN' JOE" 

I 'm one o' these cur'ous kind o' chaps 

You think you know when you don't, perhaps! 

I hain't no fool — ner I don't p'tend 

To be so smart I could rickommend 

Myself f er a congerssman, my friend ! — 

But I 'm kind o' betwixt-and-between, you know, 

One o' these fellers 'at folks calls "slow." 

And I '11 say jest here I 'm kind o' queer 

Regardin' things 'at I see and hear, — 

Fer I 'm thick o' hearin' sometimes, and 

It 's hard to git me to understand ; 

But other times it hain't, you bet ! 

Fer I don't sleep with both eyes shet! 

I 've swopped a power in stock, and so 
The neighbers calls me " Tradin' Joe " — 
And I 'm goin' to tell you 'bout a trade, — 
And one o' the best I ever made : 

Folks has gone so fur 's to say 

'At I 'm well fixed, in a worldly way, 



''TRADIN' JOE'' 93 

And beiii' so, and a widower^ 

It 's not su'prisin', as you '11 infer, 

I 'm purty handy among the sect — 

Widders especially, rickollect! 

And I won't deny that along o' late 

I 've hankered a heap fer the married state — 

But some way o' 'nother the longer we wait 

The harder it is to discover a mate. 



Marshall Thomas, — a friend o' mine, 

Doin' some in the tradin' line, 

But a'most too young to know it all — 

On'y 2X picnics er some ball I — 

Says to me, in a banterin' way. 

As we was a-loadin' stock one day, — 
"You 're a-huntin' a wife, and I want you to see 

My girl's mother, at Kankakee ! — 

She hain't over forty — good-lookin' and spry, 

And jest the woman to fill your eye! 

And I 'm a-goin' there Sund'y, — and now," says he, 
"I want to take you along with me; 

And you marry her, and," he says, '*by 'shaw! 

You '11 hev me fer yer son-in-law! " 



94 "TRADIN' JOE" 

I Studied a while, and says I, " Well, I '11 
First have to see ef she suits my style ; 
And ef she does, you kin bet your life 
Your mother-in-law will be my wife! " 



Well, Sund'y come; and I fixed up some — 

Putt on a collar — I did, by gum! — 

Got down my "plug," and my satin vest — 

(You would n't know me to see me dressed ! — 

But any one knows ef you got the clothes 

You kin go in the crowd wher' the best of 'em goes ! ) 

And I greeced my boots, and combed my hair 

Keerfully over the bald place there ; 

And Marshall Thomas and me that day 

Eat our dinners with Widder Gray 

And her girl Han' ! * * * 

Well, jest a glance 
O' the widder 's smilin' countenance, 
A-cuttin' up chicken and big pot-pies. 
Would make a man hungry in Paradise ! 
And passin' p'serves and jelly and cake 
'At would make an angeVs appetite ache ! — 



''TRADIN' JOE" gg 

Pourin' out coffee as yaller as gold — 
Twic't as much as the cup could hold — 
La! it was rich! — And then she 'd say, 
"Take some o' this/ " in her coaxin' way, 
Tel ef I 'd been a hoss I 'd 2i-foundered, shore, 
And jest dropped dead on her white-oak floor! 

Well, the way I talked would a-done you good, 
Ef you 'd a-been there to a-understood ; 
Tel I noticed Hanner and Marshall, they 
Was a-noticin' me in a cur'ous way ; 
So I says to myse'f, says I, " Now, Joe, 
The best thing fer you is to jest go slow! " 
And I simmered down, and let them do 
The bulk o' the talkin' the evening through. 

And Marshall was still in a talkative gait 
When we left, that evening — tollable late. 

" How do you like her? " he says to me ; 
Says I, '' She suits, to a ' t-y-Tee ' ! " 
And then I ast how matters stood 
With him in the opposite neighberhood? 

"Bully! " he says ; " I ruther guess 
I '11 finally git her to say the ' yes.' 



96 



^^TRADIN' JOE'' 

I named it to her to-night, and she 
Kind o' smiled, and said 'she \i see'— 
And that 's a purty good sign! " says he : 
"Yes," says I, " you 're ahead o' me! " 
And then he laughed, and said, ''Go in! " 
And patted me on the shoulder ag'in. 

Well, ever sence then I 've been ridin' a good 
Deal through the Kankakee neighberhood ; 
And I make it convenient sometimes to stop 
And hitch a few minutes, and kind o' drop 
In at the widder's, and talk o' the crop 
And one thing o' 'nother. And week afore last 
The notion struck me, as I drove past, 
I 'd stop at the place and state my case — 
Might as well do it at first as last! 

I felt first-rate ; so I hitched at the gate, 
And went up to the house ; and, strange to relate, 
Marshall Thomas had dropped in, too.— 
"Glad to see you, sir, how do you do?" 
He says, says he ! Well— it sounded queer; 
And when Han' told me to take a cheer. 



''TRAD IN' JOE'' 



97 



Marshall got up and putt out o' the room — 
And motioned his hand fer the widder to come. 
I did n't say nothin' fer quite a spell, 
But thinks I to myse'f, " Ther' 's a dog in the well! " 
And Han' she smiled so cur'ous at me — 
Says I, " What 's up? " And she says, says she, 
"Marshall 's been at me to marry ag'in. 
And I told him ' no,' jest as you come in." 
Well, sumepin' o' 'nother in that girl's voice 
Says to me, "Joseph, here 's your choice! " 
And another minute her guileless breast 
Was lovin'ly throbbin' ag'in my vest ! — 
And then I kissed her, and heerd a smack 
Come hke a' echo a-flutterin' back, 
And we looked around, and in full view 
Marshall was kissin' the widder too! 
Well, we all of us laughed, in our glad su'prise, 
Tel the tears come a-streajnin'' out of our eyes! 
And when Marsh said " 'T was the squarest trade 
That ever me and him had made," 
We both shuck hands, 'y jucks! and swore 
We 'd stick together ferevermore. 
And old 'Squire Chipman tuck us the trip : 
And Marshall and me 's in pardnership! 



UNCLE WILLIAM'S PICTURE 

Uncle William, last July, 

Had his picture took. 
" Have it done, of course," says I, 
" Jes' the way you look ! " 
(All dressed up, he was, fer the 
Barbecue and jubilee 
The old settlers helt.) So he — 

Last he had it took. 

Lide she 'd coaxed and begged and pled, 

Sence her mother went ; 
But he 'd cough and shake his head 

At all argyment; 
Mebby clear his th'oat and say, 
" What 's 77iy likeness 'mount to, hey. 
Now with Mother gone away 

From us, like she went?" 

But we projicked round, tel we 
Got it figgered down 



UNCLE WILLIAAVS PICTURE ^q 



How we 'd git him, Lide and me, 

Drivin' into town; 
Bragged how well he looked and fleshed 
Up around the face, and freshed 
With the morning air; and breshed 

His coat-collar down. 

All so providential I W'y, 

Now he 's dead and gone, 
Picture 'pears so lifelike I 

Want to start him on 
Them old tales he ust to tell. 
And old talks so sociable. 
And old songs he sung so well — 

'Fore his voice was gone! 

Face is sad to Lide, and they 's 

Sorrow in the eyes — 
Kisses it sometimes, and lays 

It away and cries. 
I smooth down her hair, and 'low 
He is happy, anyhow, 
Bein' there with Mother now, — 

Smile, and wipe my eyes. 



LofC. 



^ 



THE FISHING-PARTY 

WuNST we went a-fishin' — Me 
An' my Pa an' Ma, all three, 
When they wuz a picnic, 'way 
Out to Hanch's Woods, one day. 

An' they wuz a crick out there, 
Where the fishes is, an' where 
Little boys 't ain't big an' strong 
Better have their folks along! 

My Pa he ist fished an' fished! 
An' my Ma she said she^wished 
Me an' her was home ; an' Pa 
Said he wished so worse 'h Ma. 

Pa said ef you talk, er say 
Anything, er sneeze, er play, 
Hain't no fish, alive er dead. 
Ever go' to bite! he said. 



THE FISHING-PARTY 

Purt'-nigh dark in town when we 
Got back home ; an' Ma, says she, 
Now she '11 have a fish fer shore! 
An' she buyed one at the store. 

Nen at supper, Pa he won't 
Eat no fish, an' says he don't 
Like 'em. — An' he pounded me 
When I choked! . . . Ma, did n't he? 




SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

I hain't no hand at tellin' tales, 

Er spinnin' yarns, as the sailors say ; 

Someway o' 'nother, language fails 

To slide fer me in the oily way 

That lawyers has ; and I wisht it would, 

Fer I 've got somepin' that I call good ; 

But bein' only a country squire, 

I 've learned to listen and admire, 

Ruther preferrin' to be addressed 

Than talk myse'f — but I '11 do my best: — 

Old Jeff Thompson — well, I '11 say, 
Was the clos'test man I ever saw ! — 
Rich as cream, but the porest pay, 
And the meanest man to work fer — La! 
I 've knowed that man to work one ''hand " 
Fer little er nothin', you understand — 
From four o'clock in the morning light 
Tel eight and nine o'clock at night. 
And then find fault with his appetite! 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 103 

He 'd drive all over the neighberhood 
To miss the place where a toll-gate stood, 
And slip in town, by some old road 
That no two men in the county knowed, 
With a jag o' wood, and a sack o' wheat. 
That would n't burn and you could n't eat! 
And the trades he 'd make, '11 I jest de-clare, 
Was enough to make a preacher swear! 
And then he 'd hitch, and hang about 
Tel the lights in the toll-gate was blowed out, 
And then the turnpike he 'd turn in 
And sneak his way back home ag'in! 



Some folks hint, and I make no doubt. 
That that 's what wore his old wife out— 
Toilin' away from day to day 
And year to year, through heat and cold, 
Uncomplainin' — the same old way 
The martyrs died in the days of old ; 
And a-clingin', too, as the martyrs done, 
To one fixed faith, and her only one, — 
Little Patience, the sweetest child 
That ever wept unrickonciled. 



I04 SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Er felt the pain and the ache and sting 
That only a mother's death can bring. 

Patience Thompson ! — I think that name 

Must a-come from a power above, 

Fer it seemed to fit her jest the same 

As a gaiter would, er a fine kid glove ! 

And to see that girl, with all the care 

Of the household on her — I de-clare 

It was ottdacious, the work she 'd do. 

And the thousand plans that she 'd putt through ; 

And sing like a medder-lark all day long. 

And drownd her cares in the joys o' song; 

And laugh sometimes tel the farmer's " hand," 

Away fur off in the fields, would stand 

A-listenin', with the plow half drawn, 

Tel the coaxin' echoes called him on ; 

And the furries seemed, in his dreamy eyes, 

Like footpaths a-leadin' to Paradise, 

As off through the hazy atmosphere 

The call fer dinner reached his ear. 

Now love 'j- as cunnin' a little thing 
As a hummin'-bird upon the wing. 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 105 

And as liable to poke his nose 

Jest where folks would least suppose, — 

And more 'n likely build his nest 

Right in the heart you 'd leave unguessed, 

And live and thrive at your expense — 

At least, that 's my experience. 

And old Jeff Thompson often thought. 

In his se'fish way, that the quiet John 

Was a stiddy chap, as a farm-hand ought 

To always be, — fer the airliest dawn 

Found John busy — and "easy,'' too. 

Whenever his wages would fall due ! — 

To sum him up with a final touch, 

He eat so little and worked so much, 

That old Jeff laughed to hisse'f and said. 

He makes me money and aims his bread! " 



But John, fer all of his quietude. 
Would sometimes drap a word er so 
That none but Patieiice understood. 
And none but her was meant to know ! - 
Mayby at meal-times John would say. 
As the sugar-bowl come down his way. 



io6 SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

" Thanky, no ; 7/iy coffee 's sweet 
Enough fer me/ " with sich conceit, 
S/ie 'd know at once, without no doubt. 
He meant because s/ie poured it out ; 
And smile and blush, and all sich stuff, 
And ast ef it was ''strong enough? " 
And git the answer, neat and trim, 

" It could ii't be too ' strong ' fer him / " 

And so things went fer 'bout a year, 

Tel John, at last, found pluck to go 

And pour his tale in the old man's ear — 

And ef it had been hot lead, I know 

It could n't a-raised a louder fuss, 

Ner a-riled the old man's temper wuss! 

He jest /// in, and cussed and swore. 

And lunged and rared, and ripped and tore, 

And told John jest to leave his door. 

And not to darken it no more! 

But Patience cried, with eyes all wet, 

" Remember, John, and don't ferget. 
Whatever comes, I love you yet! " 
But the old man thought, in his se'fish way, 

" I '11 see her married rich some day ; 



SQ UIRE HA WKINS ' S S TOR Y 107 

And that,'^ thinks he, "is money fer 7ne — 
And my will 's law, as it ought to be ! " 



So when, in the course of a month er so, 
A widower, with a farm er two. 
Comes to Jeff's, w'y, the folks, you know. 
Had to talk — as the folks '11 do : 
It was the talk of the neighberhood — 
Patie7ice and John, and their affairs ; — 
And this old chap with a few gray hairs 
Had " cut John out," it was understood. 
And some folks reckoned " Patience, too, 
Knowed what she was a-goin' to do — 
It was like her — la! indeed! — 
All she loved was dollars and cents — 
Like old Jeff — and they saw no need 
Fer Joh7i to pine at her neghgence ! " 

But others said, in a kinder way. 
They missed the songs she used to sing — 
They missed the smiles that used to play 
Over her face, and the laughin' ring 
Of her glad voice — that everything 



: o 8 SQ UIRE HA WKINS ' S S TOR Y 

Of her old se'f seemed dead and gone, 
And this was the ghost that they gazed on ! 

Tel finally it was noised about 
There was a weddin^ soon to be 
Down at Jeff's ; and the '' cat was out " 
Shore enough! — 'LI the Jee-mun-nee I 
It riled me when John told me so, — 
Fer I was o, friend d' John's^ you know ; 
And his trimbhn' voice jest broke in two — 
As a feller's voice '11 sometimes do. — 
And I says, says I, '' Ef I know my biz — 
And I think I know yN)i2Xjestice is, — 
I 've read some law — and I 'd advise 
A man like you to wipe his eyes. 
And square his jaws and start ag^n, 
Fer je slice is a-goin' to win I " 
And it was n't long tel his eyes had cleared 
As blue as the skies, and the swi appeared 
In the shape of a good, old-fashioned smile 
That I had n't seen fer a long, long while. 

So we talked on fer a' hour er more, 
And sunned ourselves in the open door, — 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 109 

Tel a hoss-and-buggy down the road 
Come a-drivin' up, that I guess John knowed, — 
Fer he winked and says, "I '11 dessappear — 
They 'd smell a mice ef they saw 77ie here! " 
And he thumbed his nose at the old gray mare. 
And hid hisse'f in the house somewhere. 



Well. — The rig drove up : and I raised my head 

As old Jeff hollered to me and said 

That '' him and his old friend there had come 

To see ef the squire was at home." 

... I told 'em '' I was ; and I aimed to be 

At every chance of a weddin'-f ee ! " 

And then I laughed — and they laughed, too, — 

Fer that was the object they had in view. 

Would I be on hands at eight that night? " 

They ast ; and 's-I, " You 're mighty right, 

I '// be on hands ! " And then I bu'st 

Out a-laughin' my very wu'st, — 

And so did they, as they wheeled away 

And drove to'rds town in a cloud o' dust. 

Then I shet the door, and me and John 

Laughed and laughed^ and jest laughed on, 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Tel Mother drapped her specs, and by 
Jeewhillikers ! I thought she 'd die ! — 
And she could n't a-told, I '11 bet my hat, 
What on earth she was laughin' at! 

Biit all o' the fun o' the tale hain't done ! — 
Fer a drizzlin' rain had jest begun, 
And a-havin' 'bout four mile' to ride, 
I jest concluded I 'd better hght 
Out fer Jeff's and save my hide, — 
Fer it was a-goin' to storm, that night! 
So we went down to the barn, and John 
Saddled my beast, and I got on ; 
And he told me somepin' to not ferget, 
And when I left, he was laughin^ yet. 

And, 'proachin' on to my journey's end. 
The great big draps o' the rain come down. 
And the thunder growled in a way to lend 
An awful look to the lowerin' frown 
The dull sky wore ; and the lightnin' glanced 
Tel my old mare jest 7nore 'n pranced. 
And tossed her head, and bugged her eyes 
To about four times their natchurl size, 



SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY m 

As the big black lips of the clouds 'ud drap 
Out some oath of a thunder-clap, 
And threaten on in an undertone 
That chilled a feller clean to the bone! 

But I struck shelter soon enough 

To save myse'f. And the house was jammed 

With the women-folks, and the weddin'-stuff : — 

A great, long table, fairly crammed 

With big pound-cakes — and chops and steaks — 

And roasts and stews — and stumick-aches 

Of every fashion, form, and size, 

From twisters up to punkin-pies! 

And candies, oranges, and figs. 

And reezins, — all the ''whilhgigs" 

And " jim-cracks " that the law allows 

On sich occasions ! — Bobs and bows 

Of gigglin' girls, with corkscrew curls, 

And fancy ribbons, reds and blues. 

And " beau-ketchers " and '* curliques " 

To beat the world! And seven o'clock 

Brought old Jeff ; — and brought — the groom, — 

With a sideboard-collar on, and stock 

That choked him so, he had n't room 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

To smaller in, er even sneeze, 

Er clear his th'oat with any ease 

Er comfort — and a good square cough 

Would saw his Adam's-apple off ! 

But as fer Patience — My ! OoYiAi-ooinhl — 

I never saw her look so sweet! — 

Her face was cream and roses, too ; 

And then them eyes o' heavenly blue 

Jest made an angel all complete! 

And when she split 'em up in smiles 

And spHntered 'em around the room, 

And danced acrost and met the groom, 

And laughed out loud — It kind o' spiles 

My language when I come to that — 

Fer, as she laid away his hat. 

Thinks I, ^^ The papers hid iji side 

Of that said hat must make a bride 

A happy one fer all her life, 

Er else a wrecked and ivretched wife ! " 

And, someway, then, I thought of John, — 

Then looked to'rds /?7//>;^^<?. . . . She was ^(?;/^/- 

The door stood open, and the rain 

Was dashin' in ; and sharp and plain 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 113 

Above the storm we heerd a cry — 

A ringin', laughin', loud *' Good-by! " 

That died away, as fleet and fast 

A hoss's hoofs went splashin' past! 

And that was all. 'T was done that quick! . . . 

You 've heerd o' fellers **lookin' sick"? 

I wisht you 'd seen the groom jest then — 

I wisht you 'd seen them two old men, 

With starin' eyes that fairly glared 

At one another, and the scared 

And empty faces of the crowd, — 

I wisht you could a-been allowed 

To jest look on and see it all, — 

And heerd the girls and women bawl 

And wring their hands ; and heerd old Jeff 

A-cussin' as he swung hisse'f 

Upon his hoss, who champed his bit 

As though old Nick had holt of it : 

And cheek by jowl the two old wrecks 

Rode off as though they 'd break their necks. 



And as we all stood starin' out 
Into the night, I felt the brush 



114 SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Of some one's hand, and turned about, - 

And heerd a voice that whispered, ''Hush!- 

They 're waitM in the kitchen, and 

You We wanted. Don't you tinderstand? " 

Well, ef my memory serves me now, 

I think I winked. — Well, anyhow, 

I left the crowd a-gawkin' there, 

And jest slipped off around to where 

The back-door opened, and went in. 

And turned and shet the door ag'in. 

And mayby locked it — could n't swear, — 

A woman's arms around me makes 

Me liable to make mistakes. — 

I read a marriage hcense nex'. 

But as I did n't have my specs 

I jest iiifei^red it was all right, 

And tied the knot so mortal-tight 

That Patience and my old friend John 

Was safe enough from that time on! 

Well now I might go on and tell 
How all the joke at last leaked out, 
And how the youngsters raised the yell 
And rode the happy groom about 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY u^ 

Upon their shoulders ; how the bride 
Was kissed a hunderd times beside 
The one /give her, — tel she cried 
And laughed untel she like to died! 
I might go on and tell you all 
About the supper — and the ball. — 
You 'd ought to see me twist my heel 
Through jest one old Furginny reel 
Afore you die! er tromp the strings 
Of some old fiddle tel she sings 
Some old cowtillion, don't you know, 
That putts the devil in yer toe! 

We kep' the dancin' up toifour 
O'clock, I reckon — mayby more. — 
We hardly heerd the thunders roar, 
Er thought about the storm that blowed — 
And them two fellers on the road! 
Tel all at onc't we heerd the door 
Bu'st o'pen, and a voice that swore, — 
And old Jeff Thompson tuck the floor. 
He shuck hisse'f and looked around 
Like some old dog about half-drown'd — 
His hat, I reckon, weighed te?i pound 



ii6 SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

To say the leasts and I '11 say, shore^ 
His overcoat weighed fifty more — 
The wettest man you ever saw, 
To have so dry a son-in-law ! 

He sized it all ; and Patience laid 

Her hand in John's, and looked afraid, 

And waited. And a stiller set 

O' folks, I know, you never met 

In any court-room, where with dread 

They wait to hear a verdick read. 

The old man turned his eyes on me : 
''And have you married 'em? " says he. 
I nodded " Yes." " Well, that '11 do," 
He says, "and now we 're th'ough yRX'&i you,- 
You jest clear out, and I decide 
And promise to be satisfied! " 
He had n't nothin' more to say. 
I saw, of course, how matters lay, 
And left. But as I rode away 
I heerd the roosters crow fer day. 



DEAD SELVES 

^ How many of my selves are dead ? 
The ghosts of many haunt me : Lo, 
The baby in the tiny bed 
With rockers on, is blanketed 
And sleeping in the long ago ; 
And so I ask, with shaking head, 
How many of my selves are dead? 

A little face with drowsy eyes 

And Hsping lips comes mistily 

From out the faded past, and tries 

The prayers a mother breathed with sighs 

Of anxious care in teaching me ; 

But face and form and prayers have fled — 

How many of my selves are dead? 

The litde naked feet that slipped 

In truant paths, and led the way 

Through dead'ning pasture-lands, and tripped 

O'er tangled poison-vines, and dipped 

In streams forbidden — where are they? 

In vain I hsten for their tread — 

How many of my selves are dead ? 



Ii8 DEAD SELVES 

The awkward boy the teacher caught 
Inditing letters filled with love, 
Who was compelled, for all he fought, 
To read aloud each tender thought 
Of " Sugar Lump " and " Turtle Dove. 
I wonder where he hides his head — • 
How many of my selves are dead? 

The earnest features of a youth 
With manly fringe on lip and chin, 
With eager tongue to tell the truth, 
To offer love and hfe, forsooth. 
So brave was he to woo and win ; 
A prouder man was never wed — 
How many of my selves are dead? 

The great, strong hands so all-inclined 

To welcome toil, or smooth the care 

From mother-brows, or quick to find 

A leisure-scrap of any kind, 

To toss the baby in the air, 

Or clap at babbling things it said — 

How many of my selves are dead ? 



DEAD SELVES n^ 



The pact of brawn and scheming brain 
Conspiring in the plots of wealth, 
Still delving, till the lengthened chain, 
Unwindlassed in the mines of gain, 
Recoils with dregs of ruined health 
And pain and poverty instead — 
How many of my selves are dead ? 

The faltering step, the faded hair — 
Head, heart and soul, all echoing 
With maundering fancies that declare 
That life and love were never there, 
Nor ever joy in anything. 
Nor wounded heart that ever bled — 
How many of my selves are dead? 

So many of my selves are dead. 
That, bending here above the brink 
Of my last grave, with dizzy head, 
I find my spirit comforted. 
For all the idle things I think : 
It can but be a peaceful bed. 
Since all my other selves are dead. 



16 



IN SWIMMING-TIME 

Clouds above, as white as wool, 

Drifting over skies as blue 
As the eyes of beautiful 

Children when they smile at you ; 
Groves of maple, elm, and beech. 

With the sunshine sifted through 
Branches, minghng each with each. 

Dim with shade and bright with dew ; 
Stripling trees, and poplars hoar, 
Hickory and sycamore, 
And the drowsy dogwood bowed 
Where the ripples laugh aloud, 
And the crooning creek is stirred 

To a gaiety that now 
Mates the warble of the bird 

Teetering on the hazel-bough ; 
Grasses long and fine and fair 
As your schoolboy sweetheart's hair, 



IN SWIMMING-TIME 121 

Backward reached and twirled and twined 
By the fingers of the wind ; 
Vines and mosses, interhnked 

Down dark aisles and deep ravines, 
Where the stream runs, willow-brinked, 

Round a bend where some one leans 
Faint and vague and indistinct 

As the like reflected thing 

In the current shimmering. 
Childish voices farther on. 
Where the truant stream has gone. 
Vex the echoes of the wood 
Till no word is understood, 
Save that one is well aware 
Happiness is hiding there. 
There, in leafy coverts, nude 

Little bodies poise and leap, 
Spattering the solitude 
And the silence everywhere — 

Mimic monsters of the deep! 
Wallowing in sandy shoals — 

Plunging headlong out of sight ; 

And, with spurtings of delight. 
Clutching hands, and shppery soles, 



122 IN SWIMMING-TIME 

Climbing up the treacherous steep 
Over which the spring-board spurns 
Each again as he returns. 

Ah! the glorious carnival! 

Purple lips and chattering teeth — 
Eyes that bum — but, in beneath, 

Every care beyond recall, 
Every task forgotten quite — 
And again, in dreams at night. 

Dropping, drifting through it all! 



SONG OF THE BULLET 

It whizzed and whistled along the blurred 

And red-blent ranks ; and it nicked the star 
Of an epaulette, as it snarled the word — 

War! 

On it sped — and the Hfted wrist 

Of the ensign-bearer stung, and straight 
Dropped at his side as the word was hissed — 

Hate! 

On went the missile — smoothed the blue 
Of a jaunty cap and the curls thereof, 
Cooing, soft as a dove might do — 

Love! 

Sang! — sang on! — sang hate — sang war — 

Sang love, in sooth, till it needs must cease. 
Hushed in the heart it was questing for. — 

Peace ! 



-^1 



/ 



DEAD, MY LORDS 

Dead, my lords and gentlemen! — 
Stilled the tongue, and stayed the pen ; 
Cheek unflushed and eye unlit — 
Done with Hfe, and glad of it. 

Curb your praises now as then : 
Dead, my lords and gentlemen. — 
What he wrought found its reward 
In the tolerance of the Lord. 

Ye who fain had barred his path, 
Dread ye now this look he hath? — 
Dead, my lords and gentlemen — 
Dare ye not smile back again? 

Low he lies, yet high and great 
Looms he, lying thus in state. — 
How exalted o'er ye when 
Dead, my lords and gentlemen! 



HOME AGAIN 

I 'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week 

To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek ; 

An' I 'm got the hives an' a new straw hat, 

An' I 'm come back home where my beau lives at. 



A SEA-SONG FROM THE SHORE 

Hail ! Ho ! 

Sail ! Ho ! 
Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy! 

Who calls to me, 

So far at sea? 
Only a little boy ! 

Sail ! Ho ! 

Hail ! Ho ! 
The sailor he sails the sea: 

I wish he would capture a little sea-horse 
And send him home to me. 

I wish, as he sails 

Through the tropical gales. 
He would catch me a sea-bird, too, 

With its silver wings 

And the song it sings. 
And its breast of down and dew ! 
126 



A SEA-SONG FROM THE SHORE 

I wish he would catch me a 

Little mermaid, 
Some island where he lands, 

With her dripping curls, 

And her crown of pearls, 
And the looking-glass in her hands 

Hail ! Ho ! 

Sail ! Ho ! 
Sail far o'er the fabulous maini 

And if I were a sailor, 

I 'd sail with you, 
Though I never sailed back again. 



127 



17 




\y- 



A BOY'S MOTHER 

My Mother she 's so good to me, 
Ef I wuz good as I could be, 
I could n't be as good — no, sir/- 
Can't a7?y boy be good as her/ 



She loves me when I 'm glad er sad ; 
She loves me when I 'm good er bad ; 
An', what 's a funniest thing, she says 
She loves me when she punishes. 



I 



A BOY'S MOTHER 

I don't like her to punish me. — 
That don't hurt, — but it hurts to see 
Her cryin'. — Nen/cry; an' nen 
We both cry an' be good again. 

She loves me when she cuts an' sews 
My little cloak an' Sund'y clothes ; 
An' when my Pa comes home to tea, 
She loves him most as much as me. 

She laughs an' tells him all I said, 
An' grabs me up an' pats my head ; 
An' I hug her, an' hug my Pa, 
An' love him purt'-nigh much as Ma. 



129 









THE RUNAWAY BOY 



. y^WuNST I sassed my Pa, an' he 

Won't stand that, an' punished me,- 
Nen when he wuz gone that day, 
I shj^ped out an' runned away. 



I tooked all my copper-cents, 
An' clumbed over our back fence 
In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed 
Ever'where all down the road. 



THE RUNA WAY BO V 

Nen I got out there, an' nen 

I runned some — an' runned again, 

When I met a man 'at led 

A big cow 'at shooked her head. 

I went down a long, long lane 
Where wuz little pigs a-j)lay'n' ; 
An' a grea'-big pig went ''Booh ! " 
An' jumped up, an' skeered me too. 

Nen I scampered past, an' they 
Was somebody hollered "I/^y/" 
An' I ist looked ever'where. 
An' they wuz nobody there. 

I wan^ to, but I 'm 'fraid to try 
To go back. . . . An' by-an'-by 
Somepin' hurts my th'oat inside — - 
An' I want my Ma — an' cried. 

Nen a grea'-big girl come through 
Where 's a gate, an' telled me who 
Am I? an' ef I tell where 
My home 's at she '11 show me there. 



31 



132 



rilE KCXA \VA y BOY 

Hul I could n'l isi but tell 
What 's uiv iianh'; an' sho says "wo 
An' isi tookod nio up an' says 
Sho know whoro 1 livo, sho guoss." 

Non she tolled me hug wite close 
Round her nock! — an' off sho goes 

Skippin' up tho stroot ! An' non 
Purtv siHMi I 'ni homo again. 

An' my l\la, when sho kissod mo, 
Rissod tho big girl too. an' sJw 
Kissed mo — ci 1 p'omiso shore 
I ^von't run away no more! 



I'llK SI^OIIJ^l) CHILD 

//^Causk Herbert (Graham 's a' only rliild- 

" Wuz I there, Ma? " 
His parunts uz got him piirt'-Digli sj^iled 

" Wuz I there, Ma? " 
Alius ever'where his Ma tells 
Where she 's bin at, little Herbert yells, 

''Wuz I there. Ma?" 
An' when she telled us wunst when she 
Wuz ist 'bout big as him an' me, 
W'y, little ]Ierbert he says, says-ee, 

"Wuz I there, Ma?" 
Foolishest young-un you ever saw. — 
" Wuz I there, Ma ? Wuz I there, Ma ? " 



133 



\y 



THE KIND OLD MAN 



The kind old man — the mild old man — 

Who smiled on the boys at play, 
Dreaming, perchance, of his own glad youth 

When he was as bhthe and gay! 

And the larger urchin tossed the ball, 

And the lesser held the bat — 
Though the kindly old man's eyes were blurred 

He could even notice that! 

But suddenly he was shocked to hear 

Words that I dare not write. 
And he hastened, in his kindly way. 

To curb them as he might! 



THE KIND OLD MAN 



135 



And he said, '' Tut! tut! you naughty boy 
With the ball! for shame!" and then, 

You boy with the bat, whack him over the head 
If he calls you that again! " 

The kind old man — the mild old man — 

Who gazed on the boys at play, 
Dreaming, perchance, of his own wild youth 

When he was as tough as they! 



18 




THE BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM 



/ 



The Boy lives on our Farm, he 's not 

Afeard o' horses none! 
An' he can make 'em lope, er trot, 

Er rack, er pace, er run. 
Sometimes he drives two horses, when 

He comes to town an' brings 
A wagonful o' 'taters nen. 

An' roastin'-ears an' things. 
136 



THE BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM 

Two horses is '' a team," he says, — 

An' when you drive er hitch. 
The right un 's a " near-horse," I guess, 

Er *'off " — I don't know which. — 
The Boy hves on our Farm, he told 

Me, too, 'at he can see, 
By lookin' at their teeth, how old 

A horse is, to a T! 

I 'd be the gladdest boy alive 

Ef I knowed much as that. 
An' could stand up like him an' drive, 

An' ist push back my hat. 
Like he comes skallyhootin' through 

Our alley, with one arm 
A-wavin' Fare-ye-well ! to you — 

The Boy lives on our Farm! 



137 



V 



/ 

THE DOODLE-BUGS'S CHARM 



When Uncle Sidney he comes here- 

An' Fred an' me an' Min, — 
My Ma she says she bet you yet 

The roof '11 tumble in! 
Fer Uncle he ist romps with us : 

An' wunst, out in our shed, 
He telled us 'bout the Doodle-Bugs, 

An' what they '11 do, he said, 
Ef you '11 ist holler " Doodle-Bugs! ' 

Out by our garden-bed — 
Doodle-Bugs! Doodle-Bugs! 

Come up an' git some bread!" 



THE DOODLE-BUGS' S CHARM 

Ain't Uncle Sidney funny man? — 

" He 's childish 'most as me " — 
My Ma sometimes she tells him that- 

'' He ac's so foolishly! " 
Wy, wunst, out in our garden-path, 

Wite by the pie-plant bed, 
He all sprawled out there in the dirt 

An' ist scrooched down his head, 



139 




An' ''Doodle! Doodle! Doodle-Bugs!" 

My Uncle Sidney said, — 
Doodle-Bugs! Doodle-Bugs! 

Come up an' git some bread! " 



140 



THE DOODLE-BUGS' S CHARM 

An' nen he showed us Httle holes 

All bored there in the ground, 
An' little weenty heaps o' dust 

'At 's piled there all around : 
An' Uncle said, when he 's Hke us, 

Er purt'-nigh big as Fred, 
That wuz the Doodle-Bugs's Charm - 

To call 'em up, he said : — 
"Doodle! Doodle! Doodle-Bugs!" 

An' they 'd poke out their head — 
" Doodle-Bugs ! Doodle-Bugs ! 

Come up an' git some bread! " 



LITTLE COUSIN JASPER 

Little Cousin Jasper, he 
Don't live in this town, hke me, — 
He hves 'way to Rensselaer, 
An' ist comes to visit here. 

He says 'at our courthouse-square 
Ain't nigh big as theirn is there ! — 
He says their town 's big as four 
Er five towns like this, an' more ! 

He says ef his folks moved here 
He 'd cry to leave Rensselaer — 
'Cause they 's prairies there, an' lakes, 
An' wile-ducks an' rattlesnakes! 

Yes, 'n' little Jasper's Pa 
Shoots most things you ever saw! — 
Wunst he shot a deer, one day, 
^At swummed off an' got away. 



142 LITTLE CO USIN J A SPER 

Little Cousin Jasper went 
An' camped out wunst in a tent 
Wiv his Pa, an' helt his gun 
While he kilt a turrapun. 

An' when his Ma heerd o' that, 
An' more things his Pa 's bin at, 
She says, " Yes, 'n' he '11 git shot 
'Fore he 's man-grown, like as not ! " 

An' they 's mussrats there, an' minks, 
An' di-dippers, an' chee-winks, — 
Yes, 'n' cal'mus-root you chew 
All up an' 't 'on't pizen you! 

An', in town, 's a flag-pole there — 
Highest one 'at 's anywhere 
In this world! — wite in the street 
Where the big mass-meetin's meet. 

Yes, 'n' Jasper he says they 
Got a brass band there, an' play 
On it, an' march up an' down 
An' all over round the town! 



LIT TLE CO USIN J A SPER 



143 



Wisht our town ain't like it is! — 
Wisht it 's ist as big as his! 
Wisht 'at his folks they 'd move here^ 
An' we W move to Rensselaer! 




GIVE ME THE BABY 
V 

Give me the baby to hold, my dear — 
To hold and hug, and to love and kiss. 

Ah! he will come to me, never a fear — 
Come to the nest of a breast like this, 

As warm for him as his face with cheer. 

Give me the baby to hold, my dear! 

Trustfully yield him to my caress. 
"Bother," you say? What! ''a bother" to w<?.?- 
To fill up my soul with such happiness 

As the love of a baby that laughs to be 
Snuggled away where my heart can hear! 
Give me the baby to hold, my dear ! 



GIVE ME THE BABY 145 

Ah, but his hands are grimed, you say, 

And would soil my laces and clutch my hair, — 

Well, what would pleasure me more, I pray, 

Than the touch and tug of the wee hands there? — 

The wee hands there, and the warm face here — 

Give me the baby to hold, my dear! 

Give me the baby! (Oh, won't you see? 

. . . Somewhere, out where the green of the lawn 
Is turning to gray, and the maple-tree 

Is weeping its leaves of gold upon 
A little mound, with a dead rose near. . . .) 
Give me the baby to hold, my dear! 




THE BEE-BAG 



When I was ist a Brownie — a weenty-teenty Brownie — 

Long afore I got to be like Childerns is to-day, — 
My good old Brownie granny gimme sweeter thing 'an 
can'y — 
An' 'at 's my litde bee-bag the Fairies stold away! 
O my little bee-bag — 
My Httle funny bee-bag — 
My httle honey bee-bag 
The Fairies stold away! 



THE BEE-BAG 



147 



One time when I bin swung in wiv annuver Brownie 
young-un 
An' lef sleepin' in a pea-pod while our parunts went 
to play, 
I waked up ist a-cryin' an' a-sobbin' an' a-sighin' 
Fer my little funny bee-bag the Fairies stold away ! 
O my little bee-bag — 
My little funny bee-bag — 
My Httle honey bee-bag 
The Fairies stold away! 

It 's awful much bewilder'n', but 'at 's why I 'm ^ Chil- 
dern^ 
Ner goin' to git to be no more a Brownie sence that 
day! 
My parunts, so imprudent, lef me sleepin' when they 
should n't! 
An' I want my httle bee-bag the Fairies stold away ! 
O my little bee-bag — 
My httle funny bee-bag — 
My little honey bee-bag 
The Fairies stold away! 



' LITTLE MARJORIE 

"Where is little Marjorie? " 
There 's the robin in the tree, 
With his gallant call once more 
From the boughs above the door! 
There 's the bluebird's note, and there 
Are spring-voices everywhere 
Calling, calling ceaselessly — 

"Where is little Marjorie? " 

And her old playmate, the rain, 
Calhng at the window-pane 
In soft syllables that win 
Not her answer from within — 



N 



LITTLE MARJORIE 149 

"Where is little Marjorie? " — 
Or is it the rain, ah me! 
Or wild gusts of tears that were 
Calling us — not calling her! 

'' Where is little Marjorie? " 

Oh, in high security 

She is hidden from the reach 

Of all voices that beseech : 

She is where no troubled word, 

Sob or sigh is ever heard, 

Since God whispered tenderly — 
" Where is little Marjorie? " 




J 



THE TRULY MARVELOUS 



GiUNTS is the biggest mens they air 

In all this world er anywhere ! — 

An' Tom Thumb he 's the most little-est man, 

'Cause wunst he hved in a oyshture-can ! 



'MONGST THE HILLS O' SOMERSET 

'MoNGST the Hills o' Somerset 

Wisht I was a-roamin' yet! 

My feet won't get usen to 

These low lands I 'm trompin' through. 

Wisht I could go back there, and 

Stroke the long grass with my hand, 

Kind o' like my sweetheart's hair 

Smoothed out underneath it there! 

Wisht I could set eyes once more 

On our shadders, on before, 

CHmbin', in the airly dawn. 

Up the slopes 'at love growed on 

Natchurl as the violet 

'Mongst the Hills o' Somerset! 

20 151 



152 'MONGST THE HILLS 0' SOMERSET 

How 't 'u'd rest a man like me 
Jest fer 'bout an hour to be 
Up there where the morning air 
Could reach out and ketch me there! — 
Snatch my breath away, and then 
Rensh and give it back again 
Fresh as dew, and smellin' of 
The old pinks I ust to love. 
And a-flavor'n' ever' breeze 
With mixt hints o' mulberries 
And May-apples, from the thick 
Bottom-lands along the crick 
Where the fish bit, dry er wet, 
'Mongst the Hills o' Somerset! 



Like a Hvin' pictur' things 

All comes back : the bluebird swings 

In the maple, tongue and bill 

TrilHn' glory fit to kill! 

In the orchard, jay and bee 

Ripens the first pears fer me, 

And the " Prince's Harvest " they 

Tumble to me where I lay 



'MONGST THE HILLS 0' SOMERSET 

In the clover, provin' still 
" A boy's will is the wind's will." 
Clean fergot is time, and care. 
And thick hearin', and gray hair — 
But they 's nothin' I fer'get 
'Mongst the Hills o' Somerset! 

Middle-aged — to be edzact. 
Very middle-aged, in fact, — 
Yet a-thinkin' back to then, 
I 'm the same wild boy again! 
There 's the dear old home once more, 
And there 's Mother at the door — 
Dead, I know, fer thirty year', 
Yet she 's singin', and I hear ; 
And there 's Jo, and Mary Jane, 
And Pap, comin' up the lane! 
Dusk 's a-fallin' ; and the dew, 
'Pears like, it 's a-fallin' too — 
Dreamin' we 're all livin' yet 
'Mongst the Hills o' Somerset! 



153 



OLD JOHN HENRY 

1/ 

Old John 's jes' made o' the commonest stuff — 

Old John Henry — 
He 's tough, I reckon, — but none too tough — 
Too tough though 's better than not enough! 

Says old John Henry. 
He does his best, and when his best 's bad, 
He don't fret none, ner he don't git sad — 
He simply 'lows it 's the best he had: 

Old John Henry! 

His doctern 's jes' o' the plainest brand — 

Old John Henry — 
A smilin' face and a hearty hand 
'S religen 'at all folks understand. 

Says old John Henry. 



OLD JOHN HENRY 155 

He 's stove up some with the rhumatiz, 
And they hain't no shine on them shoes o' his, 
And his hair hain't cut — but his eye-teeth is: 
Old John Henry! 

He feeds hisse'f when the stock 's all fed — 

Old John Henry — 
And sleeps like a babe when he goes to bed — 
And dreams o' heaven and home-made bread, 

Says old John Henry. 
He hain't refined as he 'd ort to be 
To fit the statutes o' poetry, 
Ner his clothes don't fit him — but he fits me : 

Old John Henry ! 



MY FIRST SPECTACLES 

At first I laughed — for it was quite 

An oddity to see 
My reflex looking from the glass 

Through spectacles at me. 

But as I gazed I really found 
They so improved my sight 

That many wrinkles in my face 
Were mixed with my delight ; 

And many streaks of silver, too, 
Were gleaming in my hair, 

With quite a hint of baldness that 
I never dreamed was there. 

156 



MY FIRST SPECTACLES 

And as I readjusted them 
And winked in slow surprise, 

A something hke a mist had come 
Between them and my eyes. 

And, peering vainly still, the old 

Optician said to me. 
The while he took them from my nose 

And wiped them hastily : 

Jest now, of course, your eyes is apt 
To water some — but where 

Is any man's on earth that won't 
The first he has to wear? " 



157 



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SCOTTY 



ScoTTY 's dead. — Of course he is! 
Jes' that same old luck of his! — 
Ever sence we went cahoots 
He 's be'n first, you bet yer boots! 
When our schoohn' first begun, 
Got two whippin's to my one: 
Stold and smoked the first cigar : 
Stood up first before the bar, 
Takin' whisky-straight — and me 
Wastin' time on "blackberry"! 
Beat me in the Army, too, 
And clean on the whole way through ! 
In more scrapes around the camp. 
And more troubles, on the tramp : 
Fought and fell there by my side 
With more bullets in his hide, 
158 



SCOTTY 

And more glory in the cause, — 
That 's the kind o' man he was! 
Luck Hked Scotty more 'n me. — 
/ got married : Scotty, he 
Never even would apply 
Fer the pension-money I 
Had to beg of " Uncle Sam " — 
That 's the kind o' cuss / am ! — 
Scotty alius first and best — 
Me the last and ornriest! 
Yit fer all that 's said and done — 
All the battles fought and won — 
We hain't prospered, him ner me — 
Both as pore as pore could be, — 
Though we 've alius, up tel now, 
Stuck together anyhow — 
Scotty alius, as I 've said, 
Luckiest — And now he 's dead! 



159 



MY WHITE BREAD 

Dem good old days done past and gone 
In old Ca'line wha I wuz bo'n 
Wen my old Misst'ess she fust said, 
*'Yo 's a-eatin' yo' white bread!" 
Oh, dem 's de times uts done gone by 
Wen de nights shine cla, an' de coon dim' high, 
An' I sop my soul in 'possum-pie, 
Das a-eatin' my white bread! 

Its dem 's de nights ut I cross my legs 
An' pat de flo' ez I twis' de pegs 
O' de banjo up twil de gals all said, 
''Yo 's a-eatin' yo' white bread!" 



MY WHITE BREAD i6i 

Oh, dem 's de times ut I usen fo' to blow 
On de long reeds cut in de old by-o, 
An' de frogs jine in like dey glad fo' to know 
I 's a-eatin' my white bread. 

An' I shet my eyes fo' to conjuh up 
Dem good ole days ut fills my cup 
Wid de times ut fust ole Misst'ess said, 

" Yo 's a-eatin' yo' white bread! " 
Oh, dem 's de dreams ut I fines de best ; 
An' bald an' gray ez a hornet's nest, 
I drap my head on de good Lord's breast. 
Says a-eatin' my white bread! 



BACK FROM TOWN 

Old friends alius is the best, 
Halest-like and heartiest : 
Knowed us first, and don't allow 
We 're so blame much better now! 
They was standin' at the bars 
When we grabbed '' the kivvered kyars 
And lit out fer town, to make 
Money — and that old mistake! 

We thought then the world we went 
Into beat '' The Settlement," 
And the friends 'at we 'd make there 
Would beat any anywhere ! — 
And they do — fer that 's their biz : 
They beat all the friends they is — 
'Cept the raal old friends like you 
'At staid home, hke / 'd ort to ! 
162 



BACK FROM TOWN 

W'y, of all the good things yit 
I ain't shet of, is to quit 
Business, and git back to sheer 
These old comforts waitin' here — 
These old friends ; and these old hands 
'At a feller understands ; 
These old winter nights, and old 
Young-folks chased in out the cold! 

Sing " Hard Times '11 come ag'in 
No More! " and neighbers all jine in! 
Here 's a feller come from town 
Wants that-air old fiddle down 
From the chimbly ! — Git the floor 
Cleared fer one cowtillion more! — 
It 's poke the kitchen-fire, says he, 
And shake a friendly leg with me! 



163 



A MAN BY THE NAME OF BOLUS 

A MAN by the name of Bolus — (all 'at we '11 ever know 
Of the stranger's name, I reckon — and I 'm kind o' 

glad it 's so! ) — 
Got off here, Christmas morning, looked 'round the 

town, and then 
Kind o' sized up the folks, I guess, and — went away 

again ! 

The fac's is, this man Bolus got "run in," Christmas- 
day ; 

The town turned out to see it, and cheered, and blocked 
the way ; 

And they dragged him 'fore the Mayor — fer he could n't 
er would n't walk — 

And socked him down fer trial — though he could n't 
er would nH talk! 

T64 



A MAN BY THE NAME OF BOLUS 165 

Drunk? They was no doubt of it! — W'y, the marshal 

of the town 
Laughed and testified 'at he fell ?//-stairs 'stid o' down! 
This man by the name of Bolus? — W'y, he even 

drapped his jaw 
And snored on through his ''hearin'" — drunk as you 

ever saw! 

One feller spit in his boot-leg, and another 'n' drapped 

a small 
Little chunk o' ice down his collar, — but he did n't 

wake at all! 
And they all nearly split when his Honor said, in one 

of his witty ways, 
To "chalk it down fer him, 'Called away — be back 

in thirty days! ' " 

That 's where this man named Bolus shd, kind o' like 

in a fit, 
Flat on the floor; and — drat my ears! I hear 'em 

a-laughin' yit! 
Somebody fetched Doc Sifers from jest acrost the 

hall — 
And all Doc said was, '' Morphine! We 're too late! " 

and that 's all! 



1 66 A MAN BY THE NAME OF BOLUS 

That 's how they found his name out — piece of a letter 

'at read : 
" Your wife has lost her reason, and little Nathan 's 

dead — 
Come ef you kin, — fergive her — but, Bolus, as fer me, 
This hour I send a bullet through where my heart ort 

to be!" 

Man by the name of Bolus ! — As his revilers broke 
Fer the open air, 'peared-Hke, to me, I heerd a voice 

'at spoke — 
Man by the name of Bolus! git up frofn where you 

lay — 
Git up and smile white at 'em, with your hands crossed 

thataway I 



OLD CHUMS 

If I die first," my old chum paused to say, 

Mind! not a whimper of regret; — instead. 

Laugh and be glad, as I shall. — Being dead, 

I shall not lodge so very far away 

But that our mirth shall mingle. — So, the day 

The word comes, joy with me." " I '11 try," I said, 

Though, even speaking, sighed and shook my head 

And turned, with misted eyes. His roundelay 

Rang gaily on the stair ; and then the door 

Opened and — closed, . . . Yet something of the 

clear, 
Hale hope, and force of wholesome faith he had 
Abided with me — strengthened more and more. — 
Then — then they brought his broken body here : 
And I laughed — whisperingly — and we were glad. 



22 167 



WHAT A DEAD MAN SAID 

Hear what a dead man said to me. 

His lips moved not, and the eyeHds lay 

Shut as the leaves of a white rose may 

Ere the wan bud blooms out perfectly ; 

And the lifeless hands they were stiffly crossed 

As they always cross them over the breast 

When the soul goes nude and the corpse is dressed 

And over the form, in its long sleep lost, 

From forehead down to the pointed feet 

That peaked the foot of the winding-sheet. 

Pallid patience and perfect rest. — 

It was the voice of a dream, may be. 

But it seemed that the dead man said to me : 

I, indeed, am the man that died 

Yesternight — and you weep for this ; 

i68 



WHAT A DEAD MAN SAID 



169 



But, lo, I am with you, side by side, 

As we have walked when the summer sun 

Made the smiles of our faces one. 

And touched our lips with the same warm kiss. 

Do not doubt that I tell you true — 

I am the man you once called friend. 

And caught my hand when I came to you. 

And loosed it only because the end 

Of the path I walked of a sudden stopped — 

And a dead man's hand must needs be dropped — 

And I — though it 's strange to think so now — 

/ have wept, as you weep for me, 

And pressed hot palms to my aching brow 

And moaned through the long night ceaselessly. 

Yet have I lived to forget my pain. 

As you will live to be glad again — 

Though never so glad as this hour am I, 

Tasting a rapture of delight 

Vast as the heavens are infinite. 

And dear as the hour I came to die. 

Living and loving, I dreamed my cup 

Brimmed sometimes, and with marvelings 

I have lifted and tipped it up 

And drank to the dregs of all sweet things. 



70 



WBA T A DEAD MAN SAID 

Living, 't was but a dream of bliss — 

Now I realize all it is ; 

And now my only shadow of grief 

Is that I may not give relief 

Unto those living and dreaming on, 

And woo them graveward, as I have gone, 

And show death's loveUness, — for they 

Shudder and shrink as they walk this way, 

Never dreaming that all they dread 

Is their purest delight when dead." 

Thus it was, or it seemed to be. 

That the voice of the dead man spoke to me. 



CUORED O' SKEERIN' 

'LiSH, you rickollect that-air 
Dad-burn skittish old bay mare 
Was no Hvin' with ! — ^'at skeerd 
'T ever'thing she seed er heerd ! — 
Th'owed 'Ves' Anders, and th'owed Pap, 
First he straddled her — k-slap / — 
And Izory — well! — th'owed her 
Hain't no tellin' jest how fur ! — 
Broke her collar-bone — and might 
Jest 'a' kilt the gyrl outright! 

Course I 'd heerd 'em make their boast 
She th'ow any feller, 'most, 
Ever topped her ! S' I, " I know 
One man 'at she '11 never th'ow ! " 
171 



172 



CUORED 6>' SKEERIN' 

So I rid her in to mill, 

And, jest comin' round the hill, 

Met a traction-engine ! — Ort 

Jest 'a' heerd that old mare snort^ 

And lay back her yeers, and see 

Her a-tryin' to th'ow me! 

Course I never said a word. 

But thinks I, "My ladybird. 

You '11 git cuored, right here and now. 

Of yer dy-does anyhow ! " 

So I stuck her — tel she 'd jest 

Done her very level best; 

Then I slides off — strips the lines 

Over her fool-head, and finds 

Me a little saplin'-gad, 

'Side the road : — And there we had 

Our own fun! — jest wore her out! 

Mounted her, and faced about. 

And jest made her nose that-air 

Little traction-engine there! 



YOUR VIOLIN 

Your violin! Ah me! 

'T was fashioned o'er the sea, 

In storied Italy — 

What matter where? 
It is its voice that sways 
And thrills me as it plays 
The airs of other days — 

The days that were! 

Then let your magic bow 
GHde hghtly to and fro. — 
I close my eyes, and so. 

In vast content, 
I kiss my hand to you, 
And to the tunes we knew 
Of old, as well as to 

Your instrument! 

Poured out of some dim dream 
Of lulling sounds that seem 



174 



YOUR VIOLIN 

Like ripples of a stream 

Twanged lightly by 
The slender, tender hands 
Of weeping- willow wands 
That droop where gleaming sands 

And pebbles lie. 

A melody that swoons 
In all the truant tunes 
Long listless afternoons 

Lure from the breeze, 
When woodland boughs are stirred, 
And moaning doves are heard. 
And laughter afterward 

Beneath the trees. 

Through all the chorusing, 
I hear on leaves of spring 
The drip and pattering 

Of April skies, 
With echoes faint and sweet 
As baby-angel feet 
Might wake along a street 

Of Paradise. 



TO A SKULL 

Turn your face this way ; 

I 'm not weary of it-— 
Every hour of every day 

More and more I love it — 
Grinning in that jolly guise 
Of bare bones and empty eyes! 

Was this hollow dome, 
Where I tap my finger, 

Once the spirit's narrow home— 
Where you loved to Hnger, 

Hiding, as to-day are we. 

From the self-same destiny? 

O'er and o'er again 

Have I put the query — 

Was existence so in vain 
That you look so cheery? — 
175 



76 TO A SKULL 

Death of such a benefit 
That you smile, possessing it ? 

Did your throbbing brow- 
Tire of all the flutter 

Of such fancyings as now 
You, at last, may utter 

In that grin so grimly bland 

Only death can understand? 

Has the shallow glee 

Of old dreams of pleasure 

Left you ever wholly free 
To float out, at leisure. 

O'er the shoreless, trackless trance 

Of unsounded circumstance ? 

Only this I read 

In your changeless features, — 
You, at least, have gained a meed 

Held from living creatures : 
You have naught to ask. — Beside, 
You do grin so satisfied! 



A VISION OF SUMMER 

'T WAS a marvelous vision of Summer. — 

That morning the dawn was late, 
And came, Hke a long dream-ridden guest, 

Through the gold of the Eastern gate. 

Languid it came, and halting. 

As one that yawned, half roused, 
With lifted arms and indolent lids 

And eyes that drowsed and drowsed. 

A glimmering haze hung over 

The face of the smiling air ; 
And the green of the trees and the blue of the leas 

And the skies gleamed everywhere. 

And the dewdrops' dazzling jewels, 

In garlands and diadems. 
Lightened and twinkled and glanced and shot 

As the glints of a thousand gems : 
177 



178 



A VISION OF SUMMER 

Emeralds of dew on the grasses ; 

The rose with rubies set ; 
On the Hly, diamonds ; and amethysts 

Pale on the violet. 

And there were the pinks of the fuchsias', 
And the peony's crimson hue, 

The lavender of the hollyhocks. 
And the morning-glory's blue : 

The purple of the pansy bloom, 

And the passionate flush of the face 

Of the velvet-rose ; and the thick perfume 
Of the locust every place. 

The air and the sun and the shadows 
Were wedded and made as one ; 

And the winds ran over the meadows 
As little children run : 

And the winds poured over the meadows 

And along the willowy way 
The river ran, with its ripples shod 

With the sunshine of the day : 



A VISION OF SUMMER lyg 

O the winds flowed over the meadows 

In a tide of eddies and calms, 
And the bared brow felt the touch of it 

As a sweetheart's tender palms. 

And the lark went palpitating 

Up through the glorious skies, 
His song spilled down from the blue profound 

As a song from Paradise. 

And here was the loitering current — 

Stayed by a drift of sedge 
And sodden logs — scummed thick with the gold 

Of the pollen from edge to edge. 

The catbird piped in the hazel, 

And the harsh kingfisher screamed, 

And the crane, in amber and oozy swirls, 
Dozed in the reeds and dreamed. 

And in through the tumbled driftage 

And the tangled roots below, 
The waters warbled and gurgled and lisped 

Like the lips of long ago. 



i8o A VISION OF SUMMER 

And the senses caught, through the music, 

Twinkles of dabbhng feet, 
And ghmpses of faces in coverts green, 

And voices faint and sweet. 

And back from the lands enchanted 
Where my earliest mirth was born, 

The trill of a laugh was blown to me 
Like the blare of an elfin horn. 

Again I romped through the clover ; 

And again I lay supine 
On grassy swards, where the skies, Hke eyes. 

Looked lovingly back in mine. 

And over my vision floated 

Misty illusive things — 
Trailing strands of the gossamer 

On heavenward wanderings : 

Figures that veered and wavered, 

Luring the sight, and then 
Glancing away into nothingness, 

And bhnked into shape again. 



A VISION OF SUMMER i8i 

From out far depths of the forest, 

Ineffably sad and lorn, 
Like the yearning cry of a long-lost love, 

The moan of the dove was borne. 

And through lush glooms of the thicket 

The flash of the redbird's wings 
On branches of star-white blooms that shook 

And thrilled with its twitterings. 

Through mossy and viny vistas, 

Soaked ever with deepest shade, 
Dimly the dull owl stared and stared 

From his bosky ambuscade. 

And up through the rifted tree-tops 
That signaled the wayward breeze, 

I saw the hulk of the hawk becalmed 
Far out on the azure seas. 

Then sudden an awe fell on me. 

As the hush of the golden day 
Rounded to noon, as a May to June 

That a lover has dreamed away. 



l82 A VISION OF SUMMER 

And I heard, in the breathless silence, 
And the full, glad light of the sun, 

The tinkle and drip of a timorous shower — 
Ceasing as it begun. 

And my thoughts, like the leaves and grasses 

In a rapture of joy and pain. 
Seemed fondled and petted and beat upon 

With a tremulous patter of rain. 



BEREAVED 

Let me come in where you sit weeping, — aye, 
Let me, who have not any child to die. 
Weep with you for the Httle one whose love 
I have known nothing of. 

The Httle arms that slowly, slowly loosed 
Their pressure round your neck ; the hands you used 
To kiss. — Such arms — such hands I never knew. 
May I not weep with you? 

Fain would I be of service — say some thing. 
Between the tears, that would be comforting, — 
But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I, 
Who have no child to die. 



183 



A SONG OF THE CRUISE 

O THE sun and the rain, and the rain and the sun ! 
There '11 be sunshine again when the tempest is done ; 
And the storm will beat back when the shining is past — 
But in some happy haven we '11 anchor at last. 

Then murmur no more, 

In lull or in roar. 
But smile and be brave t 'oyage is o'er. 

O the rain and the sun, ana the sun and the rain! 

When the tempest is done, then the sunshine again ; 

And in rapture we '11 ride through the stormiest gales, 

For God's hand 's on the helm and His breath in the 

sails. 

Then murmur no more. 

In lull or in roar, 

But smile and be brave till the voyage is o'er. 



184 



K 



THE DEAD WIFE 



Always I see her in a saintly guise 

Of lilied raiment, white as her own brow 
When first I kissed the teardrops to the eyes 
That smile forever now. 

Those gentle eyes y seem the same to me, 

As, looking through le warm dews of mine own, 
I see them gazing downward patiently 
Where, lost and all alone 

In the great emptinv>ss of night, I bow 

And sob aloud for one returning touch 
Of the dear hands that. Heaven having now, 
I need so much — so much! 



185 



SOMEDAY 

1^ Someday: — So many tearful eyes 

Are watching for thy dawning Hght ; 
So many faces toward the skies 
Are weary of the night! 

So many faiHng prayers that reel 

And stagger upward through the storm, 

And yearning hands that reach and feel 
No pressure true and warm. 

So many hearts whose crimson wine 

Is wasted to a purple stain 
And blurred and streaked with drops of brine 

Upon the lips of Pain. 

Oh, come to them! — these weary ones! 

Or if thou still must bide a while, 
Make stronger yet the hope that runs 

Before thy coming smile: 

And haste and find them where they wait — 
Let summer- winds blow down that way, 

And all they long for, soon or late. 
Bring round to them, Someday. 

i86 



CLOSE THE BOOK 



Close the book, and leave the tale 
All unfinished. It is best : 

Brighter fancy will not fail 
To relate the rest. 

We have read it on and on, 
Till each character, in sooth, 

By the master-touches drawn, 
Is a hving truth. 

Leave it so, and let us sit. 
With the volume laid away — 

Cut no other leaf of it. 
But as Fancy may. — 

Then the friends that we have met 
In its pages will endure, 

And the villain, even yet. 
May be white and pure. 

Close the book, and leave the tale 

All unfinished. It is best : 
Brighter fancy will not fail 

To relate the rest. 

187 



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LEJl?9 



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